Harry Potter and the Phoenix Gate
by Jedi Cosmos
Summary: A fifth-year fic. Discontinued.
1. mrs arabella figg

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't waste my time on fics! And this disclaimer applies to the rest of the story too.

**Note: **Welcome to the new revised edition of the Phoenix Gate.  No explanations will be given as to the previous books; in reading this fan fic, I assume you've read all four books.  If not…then what are you doing here?

**mrs.**

**arabella figg**

It was dark outside.

Harry Potter sighed, peering blearily at the alarm clock positioned facing him, before sighing again and glancing back down at his desk.   His potions essay was nearly complete, but now that he glanced back at it, he realized he'd have to rewrite it.  There was a big black blotch towards the beginning, and his already untidy scrawl became illegible at some points.  He skimmed through the last paragraph he'd just written, and realized that not only was it unnecessary information, but it was pointless babble.  _Not that Snape'll really read it before failing it anyway._

His thoughts shifted to rogue Professor Severus Snape, a topic that had recently been surfacing in his mind agitatedly.  He felt he had quite the right idea: Snape was a spy for Dumbledore.  But he still hadn't been able to come up with any reason for Dumbledore to trust Snape.

_Maybe something really bad happened_, he thought to himself, idly twirling his quill between his fingers as he thought.  _Maybe Voldemort did something that made Snape turn to Dumbledore.  Maybe Snape was a spy from the very beginning.  Maybe Snape's a spy for Voldemort.  Or maybe he's a double-agent, and he's a spy for Voldemort as much as he is for Dumbledore._  There were so many possibilities as to what could've made Snape choose whichever side he was on…but what in the world had made Dumbledore _trust_ him?

Harry sighed a third time, and leaning back in his chair, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly.  He didn't want to sleep, but his body demanded it.  Not only from the lack of sleep he'd been suffering lately, but he's also had slight growth spurts the past few months.  He was taller by a few inches, but still just as thin and gangly.  His appetite wasn't really rearing its head as it normally did.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Harry turned his lamp off and made it to his bed in the dark, lying down and pulling the blanket over his tired body.  He hated this.

He had gotten better at blocking memories out of his mind, but he could not yet control his dreams.

***

"Harry! Get down here!"

Harry jerked awake and sat up straight in his bed, wide-eyed and unblinking, before a drowsy confusion settled on his mind.  What time was it?

"Harry!"

Through the tired haze, "Coming!" he called back down to his Aunt Petunia, his voice barely loud enough to reach her. As he was getting dressed in Dudley's large hand-me-downs, Harry carefully avoided looking at himself in the mirror. He knew what he would see – a skinny, somewhat short boy with untidy black hair, pale skin, and a thin lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

He ran down the stairs and without a word, began to prepare breakfast for the three Dursleys. After placing the eggs and bacon on the table, he placed the plates and utensils, grabbed two slices of toast, and then went straight back up the stairs without taking a second glance back.

The Dursleys had been leaving him alone a lot lately.  He wasn't getting as many pointless chores, and as long as he cooked breakfast for them without any problems, they let him be.

Harry shrugged to himself, not really caring.  Dumbledore must have written to them or something, because he couldn't see any other reasons for the Dursleys not to be as nasty as usual, except under the threat of getting involved in any sort of trouble with "their kind."

Entering his room and shutting the door behind him in one graceful movement, Harry returned to his desk and took out fresh rolls of parchment.  He needed to get back to rewriting that potions essay.

As he readied his quill, he glanced up at the calendar that he had tacked to his wall.  July seventh.  He looked closer at the date, a nagging feeling at the back of his mind, and when he read the word he had scribbled by the number, he remembered what had been so important about today.

Aunt Petunia had invited Mrs. Figg over for the afternoon because of her nosiness.  Aunt Petunia's circle of gossip had heard that old Figg would be going back to teaching again and Aunt Petunia just had to know for herself.  Harry gave a snort of laughter at the thought of eccentric old Mrs. Figg _teaching_.

Harry put his quill back in its holder and leaned back, much like the night before, and let his thoughts drift back to that night in the infirmary.

_"Sirius, I need you to contact some people.  Lie low at Remus Lupin's, and gather Fletcher, Figg…you know, the Old Crowd…"_

He hadn't noticed it when Dumbledore had first said it; there were too many other things going on in his mind to properly process them, but he had realized them on the train back to King's Cross.  The Figg that Dumbledore had mentioned – he couldn't have been talking about old Mrs. Figg, his baby-sitter…

Harry had his suspicions.  If…if Mrs. Figg _was_ the person Dumbledore was looking for, then he would find out today whether or not his baby-sitter was a witch.  What her place could have possibly been in all this, Harry didn't know.

Either way, at least Uncle Vernon or Dudley wouldn't be there.  He'd be freer under his aunt's care than his uncle's.  Dudley had gone out with Piers and some of his other friends – Harry supposed that wherever they were, they were picking on someone or another.  That's what they spent most of their time doing, anyway.

He began to redo his essay, but five minutes into the assignment, when he heard the doorbell ring towards noontime and even before hearing Aunt Petunia's fake tone drifting through the mostly empty home, he knew Mrs. Figg had arrived.  Not five minutes later, there was a brisk knock on his door, before Aunt Petunia entered it.

She dropped her nice and kind expression, trading it for a deep scowl. "Now, listen here, boy. That woman wants to speak with you, see how you've been, and you had better be on your best behavior. No funny stuff. If you do _anything_ to make her think you're – you're – well, _abnormal_, then you'll regret it. I'm going to prepare something to eat while you two are talking."

She turned to leave the room, and he was about to follow, but then Aunt Petunia spun around hissing, "And _do_ something about your hair!"

Harry ran his hand through his raven hair absent-mindedly as he went downstairs and went to the living room, where Mrs. Figg was undoubtedly sipping her tea. When she saw him, she set her tea down, and smiled warmly at him as she got to her feet to greet him.

"Oh, how are you, child?" she asked fondly, clasping his outstretched hand in both of hers, giving a firm handshake.  She took a step back, and her blue eyes looked him up and down.  "Oh, dear, you've grown into such a handsome young man.  You'll be fifteen at the end of this month, I remember."

Harry smiled rather blandly.  He suddenly felt sorry for Ron.  With all those family members, he must have gotten this kind of thing every time extended family members got together.  He could just imagine his red-headed friend rolling his eyes at an old woman telling him of how much he'd grown since the last time they'd seen each other.

Well, at least she remembered his birthday.  That was more than he could say for the Dursleys.

He sat down across from Mrs. Figg, and she returned to sipping her tea.  She looked the same to him as always.  She wasn't dressed very fashionably, as Aunt Petunia always complained, but he supposed that was rather normal for an old lady, and he didn't know the first thing about women's clothes anyway.  But he did notice a cabbage-like smell wafting from her direction.  _Eccentric old Mrs. Figg…a witch…._

He decided they might as well just get to it.  If worst came to worst, Mrs. Figg would get affronted and tell Aunt Petunia, which would then leave to his getting locked in his cupboard for a week or something of the sort.  That didn't sound very appealing, but Harry had been waiting since the end of term to find the answer to this.  Mrs. Figg would never talk about it in the Dursley house – under muggle eyes – unless provoked, if she really _was_ a witch.

He leaned in closer towards Mrs. Figg, and asked, hesitantly, "Er…Mrs. Figg, I was wondering…er, are – are you a witch?"

Mrs. Figg stopped sipping her tea very suddenly, and looked up at Harry with piercing blue eyes.  After a moment in which Harry's heart was absolutely sure that this _was_ who Dumbledore had been looking for – that Mrs. Figg really _was_ a witch – when Mrs. Figg burst out laughing, leaving him completely bewildered.

"Oh," she laughed, as only an old woman could, seeming dignified as she did so, "oh, my dear boy, what a funny thing to say!"  Her laughter abated.  "Whatever made you say that?"

Harry slowly shrugged, and although feeling slightly suspicious, he also felt rather embarrassed.  What if she really _was_ a muggle?  "Just wondering."

And that was that.  Aunt Petunia walked in with the tea and sweets and Harry was about to get up to leave, when a sharp look from his aunt sat him back down again.  Sitting beside Mrs. Figg, Aunt Petunia smiled at the old woman and shot a look of pure disgust at Harry.

"These are absolutely scrumptious, Petunia dear," Mrs. Figg said, taking a bite of a flowery decorated biscuit of some sort. "Your own recipe?"

"Yes, of course," Aunt Petunia bragged.

Mrs. Figg and Aunt Petunia conversed with small talk for quite a while as Harry's mind wandered to other things.  Harry watched the old woman discreetly.  A muggle would've been more offended than Mrs. Figg seemed.  A muggle would have been upset and then wondered what could've made them seem like a witch.

Harry felt a headache coming on.  He _still_ wasn't sure whether or not the woman was a witch or not, although there was something ridiculously familiar about her, more than the fact that she had baby-sat for him when he was little.  She looked familiar too, but Harry pondered over it, and could not uncover the nagging feeling he had.

Harry's head snapped up as he heard Mrs. Figg say his name.

"Petunia, I was wondering, would you let Harry come stay with me the rest of the summer?" Mrs. Figg asked, to the utter surprise of both Aunt Petunia and Harry. She continued quickly, not wanting to give Petunia the chance to refuse. "You see, I'm going to be visiting a lot of places this summer, and if Harry wasn't doing anything, I was hoping I'd have some company as well. My cats really _do_ adore the boy." Mrs. Figg smiled at Harry.

Harry gave an uncertain grin. He wasn't sure which was a worse way to spend the summer: with the Dursleys, or with Mrs. Figg's cats. He fast made up his mind and told himself that _anything_ was better than the Dursleys.

"Oh," Aunt Petunia said, looking at Harry, then to Mrs. Figg, then back at Harry.  She wasn't smiling anymore.  "Oh, I don't know, this is a surprise – "

"Oh, go on Petunia," Mrs. Figg said with a chuckle, "he'll be having a good time, and learning new things as well.  I can leave him at the train station for school when the new term begins, as well."

Aunt Petunia laughed rather dubiously at that, but with a sigh and a frown, nodded. "I…I suppose it should be all right.  Will he go with you now?"

"Yes, yes," Mrs. Figg nodded, smiling jovially. Turning to Harry with a gleam in her eyes, she said, "go on and get your things, I'll be waiting here."

Harry, not believing his luck, sprinted up the stairs, into his room, and started throwing all his things into his school trunk. When he came down, Aunt Petunia stared at him with immense dislike.

"She's waiting outside. Now you listen, boy – if she finds out about your…you know, when Vernon and I find out, he'll flay you to within an inch of your life. Now…now just leave."

Harry shrugged, used to all the threats coming from his aunt and uncle, and dragging the trunk behind him, he followed Mrs. Figg down Privet Drive to what he hoped would be a nice summer.  "Bye, Aunt Petunia."

Once they were out of earshot and sight, Mrs. Figg stopped and turned to Harry.  Glancing up and down the street, Mrs. Figg took out a long, thin piece of wood.

Harry caught sight of it and grinned, as Mrs. Figg waved the wand, and muttered weightless and shrinking charms over his trunk.  Picking it up from the ground and putting it in his pocket, Harry looked at the old woman.  "So, you _are_ a witch."

She merely smiled and continued walking.  As they turned the corner of privet drive, she said, "Yes, Harry, I am a witch.  Albus told you, I assume."

Harry looked at her and said honestly, "No, not directly.  I recognized your name when he was speaking to S– " Harry suddenly stopped, and then continued smoothly, "to some other people that were there."  He didn't think that Mrs. Figg knew that Sirius was innocent, as only very few people knew it.

"Ah, Mr. Black, I presume," Mrs. Figg supplied, a knowing look on her face.  Her eyes twinkled.  "My brother has told me all about it."

Harry followed in silence.  The only other people that knew were Ron, Hermione, Snape, Dumbledore, and Remus Lupin.  Now Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, too.  But…Mrs. Figg was too old to be Snape's sister, or Remus', and Hermione and Ron were definitely crossed out.  But then there was no one else….

Unless…

Harry's eyes widened.  _She's got the same blue eyes…the same expression._  Vaguely, he remembered from long ago – it wasn't so long ago, was it? Harry thought in wonder.  When Rita Skeeter's horrible article about Hagrid had come out, Dumbledore had been reassuring Hagrid with a story of his own brother.  Aberforth Dumbledore.  If Harry had just learned that Dumbledore had a brother six months ago, why would this be so hard for him to accept?  Albus, Aberforth, Arabella…

"Professor Dumbledore?"

Mrs. Figg still wasn't looking at him as she walked, seeming to instead take in the greenery of Little Whinging during the summer.  "Hmm, yes," she said, smiling.  "Albus is my older brother."

Harry watched her dumbstruck for more than a few moments.

She finally looked over at Harry, and her gaze softened. "I was told what happened on the night of the Third Task."

Harry didn't stop walking, but his muscles tensed and he felt a familiar ache race through his being, then he looked down; his mind wandering to the things he saw that night. Cedric, dead, on the floor – Wormtail's scream and the sound of his severed limb falling into the cauldron – Voldemort rising and touching his face, with one long, piercing digit – the wands connecting – his parents –

He suddenly realized that Mrs. Figg was watching him, and decided that – as he had nothing to say to her in reply – that he would just stay silent.  He looked up and forward as they walked, keeping to his silence.

Mrs. Figg noticed this, but made no mention of it. Her eyes looked through him, just as Dumbledore's would.

Those eyes…they knew him.  It was as if they felt the same things he did – they felt his fear, hope, and all the things between.  They saw everything about him.

He wished they didn't.

**arabella figg**

**end**

**A/N:** All right, that's a helluva lot more satisfying than the first round.  I like this redo much better.  Harry doesn't seem abnormally clever, the whole intro is much better presented…blah blah blah.

I'll be honest – I love reviews.  I love them with all my heart, and I love the people who leave reviews.  I like to know what people think.  Tell me if you think something should be different, or I should go a certain direction with something.  All your ideas and input help me make this better.  So feel free to e-mail or IM me or leave a review to say…anything, if you like.

As always, to join my mailing list, leave your e-mail address in a review if you would like to receive notices for updates to my stories.

~ Jedi Cosmos


	2. the phoenix room

**Author's Note:** Chapter 2 of the revised round.  Enjoy.

**the******

**phoenix room**

Once settled in Mrs. Figg's home (which, Harry noticed, still smelled of cabbage), Mrs. Figg fixed Harry with a kind smile. "The real reason I wanted you here was so you'd be able to come with me to Hogwarts during the summer."

"Hogwarts?" Harry asked, feeling slightly taken aback. "Why? What for?" He wasn't sure why he felt somewhat uncomfortable at the thought of returning so soon; but unbidden in his mind, the image of Cedric lying on the ground, the sound of his mother and father's voices, reminded him. Hogwarts _was_ his home, he was sure of it, but he…not so soon…

Mrs. Figg busied herself with making some tea. "You'll find out when we arrive there, my dear boy.  I don't know much more myself." She flashed him a quick grin, taking in the intense curiosity that shone in Harry's brilliant green eyes. "You're quite like your father, you are, but there's a lot of Lily in you, too."

"Besides my eyes?" Harry wondered aloud.

Mrs. Figg laughed, pouring two cups of tea, adding a bit of sugar, and handing a cup to Harry. She sat at the table across from him. "Sorry, dear, but I don't have any sweets quite as good as your aunt makes them."

_It's not like she let me eat any of them_. Harry smiled quickly before taking a sip of the tea, and felt a sudden and immense longing for a drink that he and his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, would always get called Butterbeer. The tea warmed him, but was nothing comparable to Butterbeer.

"Your mother was a lovely woman," Mrs. Figg said, reminiscing as she sipped at her tea. "Intelligent and kind, she was, and she and James made fast friends from the start. Afterwards, they fell in love." Mrs. Figg paused, before continuing. "They were perfect together."

Mrs. Figg looked back at Harry, her eyes taking in everything about him. Harry idly noted to himself that although she had Dumbledore's eyes, they were softened by the warmth she held in them. "When you were born, they were both so ecstatic. You were the only good thing that came into our lives during the peak of Voldemort's reign.  The first time James held you…you were a beautiful little baby boy, and your eyes opened. You stared at each other for minutes, and everyone was so quiet, just watching. Then, of course, Sirius poked James in the head to see if he was all right and because he wanted to hold you—but still, that moment is the first, only, and most touching one I remember of everyone ever being so happy."

Harry was looking into the tea of his cup as Mrs. Figg was speaking. He tried hard not to think about them—no matter what, every time he pictured them since the Third Task, all he would hear were his mother's terrified pleas of mercy, his father's ghostly face….  It was awful, so much like his third year, when the Dementors were guarding the school….

What saddened him most was the expression on his father's face—it was a quiet, solemn expression. Granted, the situation wasn't all that perfect—the first thing he saw after having his spirit freed from Voldemort's wand was a duel between his fourteen-year-old son and the dark lord, but still…. Harry had the desire to see his father happy, laughing, and joking, like in the stories that Sirius and Remus had told him of.

"Anyway," Mrs. Figg said, looking at her watch, "I told Albus we'd be at Hogwarts by five. Go get your wand, Harry."

Harry obediently went to his trunk and managed to find his wand, safely tucked away in the box that it had come in. He emerged from his room holding the wand firmly in his grip, the curious gaze still fixed on the elder woman.

Mrs. Figg nodded, then peered at her clothes, then at Harry's. "Hmm. Maybe we should wear something more appropriate…. This is to be quite an important meeting." Before Harry could even think about going into his room to pull on his Hogwarts robes, Mrs. Figg had pulled a long, wooden wand out of her pocket (which surprised Harry since he hadn't noticed it) and flicked it at him.

Instantly, Harry felt the clothes he was wearing change. In the blink of an eye, his baggy jeans that were held up with a belt, and the large T-shirt he had been wearing became black, glossy robes of a shimmery material. These were much fancier than his Hogwarts robes, he thought, even more so than the dress robes he had. Under the robes there was some kind of long-sleeved, cuffed, high-collared tunic that reached his feet, slitted from the hip-down, covering the black, loose-fitting pants and silver-buckled black boots. The tunic was lined with the same silver color of his boots. There was also a silver sash at his waist, securing the tunic to him. Over it was a very thin silver robe, overlapped by a slightly thicker black one.

He frowned uncomfortably at Mrs. Figg's choice of robes—he much preferred his simple Hogwarts robes, but didn't say anything. Mrs. Figg obviously caught his expression, because she laughed, and simply told him, "This _is_ an important meeting."

She transfigured her own clothes into a fancy, light blue set of robes, similar to Harry's, but definitively feminine. "I don't want to go by Floo," she said, shrugging, and holding out her hand to Harry. "Come on, we'll Apparate."

Without waiting for him to reply, she grabbed his hand and Harry felt a distinct puckering of his skin before finding himself staring into the face of his Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile, his eyes twinkling. Harry said hello back, but couldn't help the hopeful feeling that rose when he realized that Dumbledore's eyes were shining as bright as they used to before the Third Task, though there was still a grim air to him. His eyes seared through his soul, and he seemed to understand how confused and uncomfortable he was. "Arabella has dressed you up, has she? Good."

"Er—yes," he replied dryly.

Professor Dumbledore chuckled good-naturedly, hugged Mrs. Figg in greeting, then Professor Dumbledore beckoned the two of them towards the castle of Hogwarts. Harry got his first look at their surroundings—they were by the gates to the castle, outside the grounds. Vaguely, he remembered his best friend Hermione telling him that no one could Apparate on the Hogwarts grounds.

Following the two adults from a few feet behind, Harry stumbled over his robes. Frowning again, he tried tugging at the collar, and found to his dismay that it was wrapped around his neck firmly. No amount of tugging would loosen it. Harry didn't give up though, and continued tugging at the uncomfortable robes until they had entered the doors of Hogwarts and were standing in the Entrance Hall.

There was a very small group of people, all dressed fancily, crowded around the Entrance Hall, and Harry felt as if he didn't belong there as they greeted Arabella. He recognized a few teachers: McGonagall, Snape, Moody. Still tugging at the collar of his robes uncomfortably, he looked out the doors of Hogwarts and looked over the grounds.

_That's where it happened…_ He gazed at the Quidditch field, remembering how it had started, with everyone in the stands, rooting for their favorite champion. How he and Cedric had grabbed the trophy together…how everything unfolded. _Kill the spare_. Those three, simple words started it all, and because of it, an innocent boy had been killed. A boy who could have had so much in his life, who had so much held for him in the future…all destroyed, all gone…leaving only the memory, the very last petal of what had been a blossoming rose….

Harry tensed when he felt someone's hand clamp down on his shoulder, and turned to find all the people in the hall staring at him. He stared back, not quite sure of anything that was going on or what to say. He glanced at Professor Dumbledore then back to the crowd that was staring at him, and tugged at the collar uncomfortably again.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore said, giving Harry's shoulder a squeeze, "do you know why you're here today?"

Harry mulled over his answer for a few seconds, then honestly replied, "I haven't the slightest idea, Professor."

A few of the people around smiled, but others stayed quiet and unmoved.

"Well!" Dumbledore said, breaking the silence, "let us join Minerva and the others in the Phoenix room, shall we?"

There was a murmur of agreement. Dumbledore lead the way, steering Harry beside him with a firm hand on his shoulder. On the way to where they were headed, already in parts of the castle that Harry had yet to explore, Harry couldn't help let his curiosity get the better of him. "Professor Dumbledore," he said in a quiet voice, "what's going on?"

"You'll learn in a few minutes," Dumbledore replied to him with a kind smile. He sobered, and added, "I know things are hard for you right now…. But everything will be revealed to you when it's time."

Harry sighed inaudibly, but Dumbledore, as if to make him feel better, said, "Sirius is here. He will join the meeting."

Harry didn't ask why, but nodded slightly, hoping that Sirius wouldn't get caught, especially since there was that group of people here. He started to wonder what he was doing here, but decided that thinking about it would only give him a headache, so he just concentrated on the floor.

Quite a few minutes later, Dumbledore had stopped walking, and Harry almost bumped into him. Looking at what Dumbledore was facing, he and the rest of the group found themselves looking at a portrait picture of a phoenix. It was a beautiful bird, with fiery, gold-red plumage. The phoenix turned, and peered closely at each person gathered around its portrait. When his eyes had landed on Harry, the bird began to tweet that eerie tune he had heard so many times before.…

Slowly, Harry asked Dumbledore, "Is that…is that _Fawkes_?" Fawkes was the pet phoenix that Dumbledore owned.

Dumbledore smiled widely. "Yes, that is Fawkes," he agreed. "Now, if he would be so kind as to open the portrait for us."

Fawkes seemed to hear this, and with a cheerful, yet sorrowful tweet, the portrait swung open, and everyone entered. The portrait swung shut behind them, and Harry found himself to be looking around a large, oval-shaped room. Its walls were red and velvety to the touch, and in the center of the room there was simple, circular, glossy brown table, with chairs placed around it.  There he found McGonagall, Mrs. Figg, and Snape already seated, among others.

Severus Snape looked up when everyone had entered, and gave Harry his usual look of absolute hatred. When Harry didn't glare back, Snape scowled and looked away.

Harry was too busy staring at a man and a dog situated in a far corner of the room. He looked closely at both and realized that they were Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black. Remus looked up, and when he noticed Harry's gaze, he smiled warmly.

Remus, with Sirius—or Snuffles—at his heels, had come to Harry's side. Harry smiled at Remus, not sure what to make of what he said. "It's nice to see you again, Professor Lupin. And Snuffles."

Remus smiled at the boy. "Call me Remus, Harry. It's nice to see you too." His blue eyes dimmed as he looked over Harry. "You've gotten much taller." _Thinner, too._ He frowned with concern, surprised with how pale the boy was, the dark bags under his eyes. He felt, rather than heard, Sirius' low and dark growl.

The night that Voldemort had risen, Sirius had arrived at Remus' home late at night, and slowly, anguished, he had explained and described what had happened. They were both in shock, both so disappointed in themselves…the son of their best friend had been tortured, terrified, and devastated by the very evil that many had sworn to protect him from. They hadn't been able to protect him from it. And now, he was going to be dragged into something that had been hidden from him since his birth—destiny.

"Everyone, please be seated."

Although quiet, Albus Dumbledore's voice carried through the room and everyone immediately obeyed. Harry, among everyone, was the only person who had no clue as to what was going on. He was suspicious, nervous, and dying to get out of the robes all at once. He gave a soft snort as he looked himself over—what was with the sash thing? Harry wondered what Ron was say if he saw Harry in these—probably burst out laughing and never stop. Hermione would most likely lecture him on the importance of looking nice during wizard meetings, and when, where, how, and why wizarding clothing was they way it is. He tugged at the collar again, just out of habit.

He quickly looked back up at Dumbledore, who was standing at the head of the table. Making sure that he had everyone's attention, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"The Order of the Phoenix has officially reconvened."

**phoenix room**

**end**

**A/N:** This chapter was a bit edited.   Took out a lot of Harry's moping (yes, there was even more) because it got to be too much, or just didn't fit.  Right.

Again, please review.  Leave your e-mail address in a review or just e-mail me if you would like to be on my mailing list.

~Jedi Cosmos


	3. the initiation

**Author's Note:** Revised chapter 3.

**the**

****

**initiation**

Harry looked around to see if this meant anything.  The Order of the Phoenix? It was all becoming rather unbearably odd; Dumbledore calling him to the school with Figg as his escort, and making him sit through this meeting without giving him a clue as to what was going on.

No one said anything for a long while. Harry ran his hand through his hair, then looked around again. Harry turned to Remus, who was seated next to him, and whispered, maybe a little too loudly, "What's the Order of the Phoenix?"

Remus shushed him with a look, and Harry frowned, looking back up at Dumbledore.

"Those of you here today have either been in the Order of the Phoenix before, or are being recruited," Dumbledore continued. "The Order is an organization of wizards and witches dedicated to eradicating dark wizards."

Oh.

Everything kind of fit into place after that—after all, Harry was the Boy Who Lived….

"The need to call upon this sacred order has returned," Dumbledore said, a twinge of sorrow in his deep voice. "Lord Voldemort has risen yet again, and we must not let him gain the power he had, not quite so long ago."

Dumbledore's eyes looked around the room, his gaze resting on each person seated around the round table. He paused when he looked at Harry last.  Dumbledore peered at the boy, who was looking up at him—rapt with attention though…a bit lost, dark with memories.

There was another boy in the room with the same eyes…young, just about a half-year older than Harry; one not yet noticed by the other young boy. This blond-haired boy had had a difficult life, with his name being written down to serve the Dark Lord since his birth. This boy didn't want that life…didn't want to follow the life of a Death Eater. No matter how crude he could be, this boy did not want to bloody his hands with that of the innocent—the thing that set him apart from so many in his position.

The boy had come to Dumbledore over the first few weeks, confessing everything that he had been involved in, everything he had seen, heard, been told. He had asked for sanctuary. He agreed to help Dumbledore as much as he could, in return. And Dumbledore had trusted the boy, and agreed to help him. His name was Draco Malfoy.

Dumbledore reverted his attention back to the other people gathered around the table—Sirius Black (still in Padfoot disguise), Remus Lupin, Mundungus Fletcher, Arabella Figg, Alastor Moody, and a few more Aurors that were young and new to their work. There was Draco…and then there was Harry.

"It is your choice, of course," he continued, "if you want to join the Order. If you do not, it is understandable—this is dangerous. But," he paused, putting more faith into his words that ever before, "to shy away from stopping Lord Voldemort is to deny others the chance to live. If we can stop Voldemort, we can prevent him from killing innocent people. And give them a chance to live." He took a deep breath, and sighed. "If you do not wish to join the Order, you may leave now. Know that if you do not exit this room at this moment, you are bound by mind, body, and soul to the Order of the Phoenix—a solemn promise of faith in the light—and you, until the threat is over," Dumbledore paused, his face looking even graver in the firelight, "you can never escape it again."

Silence reigned supreme in the room after Dumbledore's speech. The elderly man had calmly seated himself in his chair.

No one made a move to get up. Nothing was said, and everyone was looking into his or her laps, deep in thought.

Harry frowned over this new information, and made up his mind incredibly quickly, not really having to think at all. Of _course_ he was going to fight Voldemort! With a shrug to himself, he figured it wasn't any different from how things went anyway. Only now, he'd be joining a group of people who all fought and would fight Voldemort.

Draco Malfoy forcefully wiped the sneer off his face as he watched Harry Potter. _I'm not my father's son anymore_, he reminded himself sternly, _I'm my own person. And I'm going to work with these people, fight with these people…I am one of these people._ Draco thought back to what Dumbledore had said at the feast after the Third Task. _Without unity, we will be destroyed, like we were before. I need to remember that_. He unconsciously scowled at Harry again. He was too used to it.

He sighed to himself. It would take a while before he could get used to the idea of working with Potter—for Dumbledore had explained to him carefully before….

//_"You must understand that this will be hard. You two will be the youngest members in the Order, and still attending Hogwarts. You will be partnered on all assignments. You must trust each other, and work together."_

_"But—" Draco sputtered._

_Dumbledore hadn't given him a chance to disagree with that. "Mr. Malfoy," he said, kind but firm, "Draco. I understand that you and Mr. Potter haven't been on good terms during the years that you have known each other. But you must learn to get along. Your abilities compliment each other, Mr. Malfoy, and both of you must put aside your anger and do this for the good of the people. The time you will be spending together may not mean something to you, but the fact that the work you are doing will be saving innocents does, that I am sure of. And that's why you have to do this."//_

Dumbledore's voice rang clearly. "We will begin the initiation. I will call each one of you forward and perform an incantation. It will bind you together, and to the oath you take upon joining the Order of the Phoenix."

Dumbledore stood, and walked towards the opposite side of the portrait entrance, where there was suitable space to perform the enchantment. "Arabella Figg."

Arabella stood, confidently, and stood a few feet across from her brother, standing tall and straight, her eyes shut tight. Dumbledore said an incantation in Latin.

"_Mentis_."

A golden symbol appeared under Arabella's feet—not a clear symbol at all. No one could see it; only a large blur of gold in shapes.

"_Corpus_."

From the edges of the circular symbol, red streams of light and mist rose, wrapping themselves around Arabella's legs, arms, and head. They faded suddenly.

"_Animus_."

An orange glow appeared around Arabella's skin, like the embers of a fire.

"_Issutio Phoenix_!"

The symbol began to fade away, and so did the glow. About two minutes later, all trace of it had disappeared.

Arabella opened her blue eyes, smiled knowingly at Dumbledore, and returned to her seat. Without being called up, Remus Lupin went forward, and the same process happened to him. Slowly, one by one, everyone was going and getting initiated. Draco wasn't sure when he felt ready enough to go and do it.

When the big, shaggy black dog walked forward towards Dumbledore, a few of the people started in surprise. Draco merely narrowed his eyes.

With a slight popping sound, the dog transformed into Sirius Black. Harry was pleased to see that his godfather had cut his hair, and had been taking good care of himself: he looked very handsome, presentable, and his skin was tanner and his face fuller. He didn't look like an ex- convict anymore.

Draco, along with quite a few of the people, blinked in surprise. Sirius Black was a murderer!

But, to their surprise and confusion, Dumbledore smiled at Black kindly, proudly, and performed the incantation. Black was now a part of the Order.

Draco stood and went towards Dumbledore, whose eyes twinkled as the he stepped forward. Draco didn't spare a glance at the other members—he didn't want to know what they started thinking when they saw him, and especially not Potter.

As the initiation was performed, Draco felt a tingling all over his body, and before the last word of the incantation, the felt something open up inside him. It was warm, very warm, and beckoned to him to listen to it. When he did, there was an immense flow of things coming from this warmth—he didn't know what it was, they were all foreign emotions, powers, to him. But they were there…and he liked them. Draco opened his eyes when the tingling stopped, and stepped back to his seat.

There was only one person left, and he stood and approached Dumbledore calmly, as if the whole thing didn't faze him one single bit. _It probably _doesn't_ faze him, after what had happened to him before,_ Draco thought as he watched.

But something was very different about Harry Potter's initiation. Very different indeed.

**initiation**

**end**

****

**A/N:** About the Phoenix Chant (the initiation spell): it's made up of four chants: Mentis, Corpis, Animus, and Issutio Phoenix. _Mentis_ comes from the Latin _Mens_ _Mentis_, which means 'mind.' _Corpus_ comes from the Latin _Corpis Corporis_, which means 'body.' _Animus_ means 'soul' in Latin. _Issutio_ comes from _Iussu_, which means 'by order of.' So, I basically took some Latin, cut it short, and made it easier to pronounce ^^;; Cheers to those online English - Latin dictionaries!

Review please!  And leave your e-mail address in a review to be added to my mailing list.

~Jedi Cosmos


	4. new dorms

**Author's Note:** Revised chapter four.  Remember, since this doesn't take place exclusively from Harry's view, Draco and Harry will be referred to as Draco and Harry, not Malfoy and Potter only.

**new**

****

**dorms**

Harry had walked forward to stand in front of Dumbledore, his green eyes piercing quite similarly to the way Dumbledore's sometimes would, his demeanor very calm. He closed his eyes tightly.

But in his mind, Harry was actually quite frightened. _What am I getting into?_ he groaned to himself. _I don't stand a chance against Voldemort in any way, I'm not smart like Hermione or anything_…_I guess I could be good bait for Voldemort, if anything_…. He wanted to voice these insecurities, but there hadn't been any chance. _I should have gotten up and left when I had the chance_, Harry thought bitterly. _I'm more of a danger than a help to all these people_.

Dumbledore, as if knowing what was going through Harry's mind, smiled reassuringly, and started the incantation.

"_Mentis_."

The golden symbol began to appear at his feet…yet it didn't stop when it was only faintly blurry…it became clearer, until it became a sharp image of a phoenix.

"_Corpus_."

From every line, curve, and point of the symbol, transparent flames suddenly rose, growing taller and taller, making Harry's robes swirl around him as if because of an invisible wind…then, as if someone had quickly blew the flame out, it dispersed into the air, where it faded.

"_Animus_."

The fiery embers covered Harry's skin, but with a sudden outburst, his whole body was engulfed by the transparent flames. Harry's hair blew around in the wind, revealing the legendary scar of his. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling the brightest they had been seen by the gathered people there.

"_Issutio Phoenix_!"

There was a loud sound, ricocheting wildly through everyone's minds…not a physical sound, but something…something that ran through everyone's "warm and tingly" spots inside them. The symbol at Harry's feet began to fade away, and so did the glow. It took abnormally long for the lights to fade from Harry, and everyone was watching him with slight awe.

Harry blinked, wishing that it hadn't hurt so much—it had been quite painful, the whole thing, like something in him had burst, when he had rather thought it wasn't supposed to—and was about to go sit down in his place when he stopped and found everyone staring at him, even some of the Aurors unknown to him gaping. He frowned, looked at Dumbledore, who was watching him with twinkling eyes. Feeling squeamish under their stares, Harry unconsciously tugged on the collar of his robes, wondering why everyone was staring at him. The same thing had happened to them, hadn't it? So what were they all looking at him for?

"What—" he started to demand, getting rather irritated with all the staring from everyone. Before he could finish his question, Sirius gripped his arm tightly and pulled him back a little. Almost all of the people around the table tensed, as if Sirius would hurt Harry.

"What is it?" Harry asked, bewildered at everyone's actions.

Sirius laughed a little wearily, and tousled Harry's already-messy hair. "We'll be discussing technical stuff from now, Harry, it'll be boring for you…. Why don't you and Draco go to one of the common rooms, or go get something to eat from the kitchens? You can use magic now that you're back here as well." Sirius said this very gently, as if trying to coax a terrified child.

Harry frowned. He _was_ the only calm one here, he felt like pointing out; he and Malfoy. Everyone, besides Malfoy, looked as if they had seen a ghost or something—which, in truth, was completely possible, as it _was_ Hogwarts and there were many ghosts. But still, it made Harry suspicious. He gave each adult a swift, piercing glance, especially Sirius, making it clear that he knew they were hiding something, and that he didn't like it. But with a small sigh, he turned around and left, pushing the portrait door open, and shutting it gently.

Everyone was silent for a few moments, until Dumbledore spoke up. "Draco," he said, addressing the young boy, "please join Harry."

Draco narrowed his eyes, and left after Harry.

Dumbledore watched as Draco left, and turned to find the Order gazing curiously at him. The wise old man sighed deeply.

"It has begun."

***

Beyond hearing this, outside of the portrait door, Harry found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy. Neither boys spoke to each other, just merely gazed.

Harry surprisingly felt all of his anger towards the other boy dormant.  Not gone—but not boiling beneath his skin, ready to burst. He understood what the other boy must have felt like, being labeled all his life by something he had no control over and having to become that label—after all, it had happened to him. Besides, Dumbledore trusted him. It was a bit far-fetched, and Harry wasn't too sure if he trusted the other boy yet. But he would give Malfoy a chance.

Draco stared back at Potter, who was now almost exactly the same height but thinner, and searched his face. Draco knew, no matter how much he hated the idea at first, he knew in the back of his mind that Potter would eventually befriend him, and that he'd have to make the best of it. _It won't be so bad_, he thought, _at least he's got brains_…_unlike Crabbe and Goyle_. Before anything happened, though, Draco decided he would make things very clear to Potter.  He may not be evil, but he was still Draco Malfoy.

"Look, Potter.  I don't like you, at all.  In fact, if it weren't for the formerly impossible thought that I could hate someone else more than I hate you, then I wouldn't be here at all.  But now that I am, it doesn't change anything."  Draco's voice dropped to a cold note as he glared at the other boy.  "I am not your friend.  I don't _want_ to be your friend.  Don't talk to me unless it's absolutely necessary.  Got it?"

Harry's eyes, if possible, became more piercing than they were before, and Draco felt as though the other boy knew exactly what he was thinking.

Slowly, tentatively, Harry's lips formed a small smile.  He shrugged, then turned away.

Draco felt scared for a moment there.  He wasn't easy to read – what had Potter smiled for? "Shut up, Potter."

Harry didn't look back as he walked away. "I didn't say anything."

Draco watched as Harry became smaller and smaller in his vision.  Not knowing what to do, he let out a frustrated groan before trailing after the other boy.

After about ten minutes of taking shortcuts through the castle that Draco had never known about, he found himself following Harry through a corridor with portraits of food on the walls. He had noticed a little while earlier that Harry was constantly tugging on the collar of his robes and had started to get irked by it.

"Haven't you ever worn this kind of robe?" Draco asked, his voice dripping with disdain. "_Rich_ wizards wear these all the time." There was no way he was going to let anyone forget the fact he was rich—he may not have followed his father's path, but he was still rich and high-classed, so it was going to stay that way.

"No, I haven't," Harry replied, sounding incredibly depressed to Draco…but Draco couldn't blame him, after thinking a moment about it. His smug expression faltered as he, too, shared a commiserating look with the other boy. "There isn't any way to loosen the collar, is there? It's choking me."

Before Draco could sadly answer 'no' and tug at his own collar, Harry stopped at a portrait of fruits. Draco watched with mild curiosity as Harry tickled the pear, as the handle appeared, and as the door swung open.

Dobby the house elf was running to Harry, and had hugged him around the waist before Harry could prevent him.

"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby exclaimed joyously.

"Hey, Dobby," Harry replied, slowly prying the house elf off himself. Draco sneered at Dobby, who he remembered serving at Malfoy Manor until his second year. "Can you bring us some food, please?" Harry asked kindly.

Dobby nodded eagerly, his cheer faltering when he looked at Draco. "I is getting you food, sir!" He hurried off.

"You don't _ask_ house elves to get you something, you _tell_ them," Draco pointed out with a drawl.

Harry frowned, and his eyebrows creased with a bit of anger. "They're living beings. You can't treat them like dirt. You should be thankful that they're helpful."

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry, not bothering to try to change his mind—he knew he couldn't. It was his experience that Gryffindors were idealistic snots that thought themselves better than everyone else. When Dobby brought the food and left, they went and sat in a corner of the kitchens to eat.

As Draco finished of a bite of a sandwich, Harry looked thoughtful. "What d'you think we'll have to do for the Order?"

Draco snorted derisively. "Don't get your hopes up, Potter. We're not going to be doing anything more than research—probably not even that. They wanted us to be members so we have their protection, and so that we know whom to trust, but that's it. We're not going to any meetings, or on any missions, and no one is allowed to tell us what they're doing. You think Dumbledore would risk your scarred head?" Draco shrugged. "I don't think that godfather of yours would either."

"He's innocent."

"I figured," Draco replied curtly. "Dumbledore wouldn't have let Black join the Order if he _had_ gotten your parents killed and tried to kill you. Besides, I heard my father saying that Pettigrew had returned to the Dark Lord."

They didn't speak much after that, and once they finished eating, they left the kitchens to go see if the meeting was over.

Sure enough, it was, and Sirius, followed by Remus, Alastor Moody, Dumbledore, Figg, and McGonagall, approached the two of them.

"Did you eat something?" Sirius asked, mostly to Harry, looking him up and down with a frown.

"Yes," Harry replied, sounding irritated and exasperated at once. "You don't think that maybe someone could explain to me what is going on?"

"What do you mean?" Remus asked, the smile on his face a bit strained.

"Well, everyone was staring at me all weird," Harry said slowly. "And why couldn't we stay for the rest of it? What's this Order of the Phoenix about? Why didn't you tell me what you were going to do earlier? And why didn't Professor Dumbledore join?"

"Yeah," Draco chimed in, "you're all hiding things.  What's the point of us being in the Order if you are?"

Harry and Draco exchanged quick, icy, but understanding glances. The adults noticed this exchange, and before anyone could say anything about it, Dumbledore said, "Harry, do you recall what I told you in your first year, about explaining everything when you were old enough?"

Sirius interjected quickly and finished what Dumbledore was about to say, except in a blunter way. "Well, Harry, you're not old enough."

Harry frowned at that, and Draco fixated his patent Malfoy glare on Remus and Sirius. Although he was in no way _friends_ with Harry, he was curious about what was going on.

"So," Sirius picked up from where he had left off, "you two will have to have different dorm arrangements from now on."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Remus sighed, and said, "Well, Draco can hardly stay in the Slytherin dorms because it is unsafe. Too many possibilities of someone being a Death Eater. It'd be too hard for you to sneak out at night, too; someone would notice. You'll get your own rooms, your own small common room, and that will make everything easier."

"How are we going to explain that to everyone else?" Harry asked. Even more puzzled, he asked, "And why would we have to sneak out if we stayed in our dorms?"

Remus smiled, mischievously. "Many meetings will take place late at night. And for your other question—no one would find it too suspicious that Dumbledore has put you into a separate room for protection, Harry, not after what happened last year. And Draco will not have any problems.  We've arranged it in a way that no one will know that he _isn't_ in the dorms."

"You'll be taking extra lessons," McGonagall said severely, looking sharply at the two boys. "Although it will be hard, it will be no excuse for not handing in the rest of your schoolwork. You will have to study exceptionally hard, and might I remind you, your O.W.L.s are this year!"

"I'll be overseeing your training, boys," Moody said, his fake eye spinning around slightly, then staring at the two. "Auror training. Other days you'll have lessons from some of your other professors."

Harry and Draco nodded. "Er—Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked, "can I tell Ron and Hermione about all this?"

Dumbledore shook his head, looking Harry in the eyes and making sure that he knew that he was very serious. "No. It might possibly put them in danger, and it will most certainly put you in danger."

Arabella Figg, Professor McGonagall, Moody, and Dumbledore all turned to leave, when Arabella called over her shoulder, "Harry, I'll have your things sent here. You'll spend the rest of the summer at Hogwarts."

"Okay," Harry said, "thanks."

"See you soon," she replied, not looking back.

Sirius and Remus were the only two left, and they both looked at Harry in concerned fashions. "Come on, then," Remus said, put one hand on Harry's shoulder, and the other on Draco's. "We'll show you to your dorm."

Harry walked behind, so that Remus and Draco were ahead, so he could talk to Sirius. Shooting Sirius a wan smile, he asked, "You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

Sirius looked a bit put off. "No, Harry, it's not good for you right now." Then he smirked. "I didn't think you and the brat would get along so well."

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, frowning slightly. "He's a bit much to put up with, but I guess he's okay; if I put aside the things he's done to me the past four years. Dumbledore trusts him, and I have no choice but to work with him anyway. I just don't know what I'll tell Ron and Hermione; they won't see things that way. I'll still have time to hang out with them, won't I?"

Sirius grimly shook his head. "No. Not much time left for you to do anything at all. You and Malfoy are going to have all your classes together, and teachers have been told to make sure you two are always partnered up. It's safer that way, and you can talk to each other about the Order, if you like, and you'll learn to work together. But you won't have much time for any of your other friends."

Harry was quiet as they continued to walk down the hallway, so many thought running through his head that he didn't know what to make of it. How could he possibly survive the year without Ron and Hermione? "What kind of work will we be doing?"

Sirius frowned deeply. "I didn't want you here in the first place, I really didn't want to get you involved with this…. But Dumbledore says you have a right to take part. I made sure he wouldn't send you on missions though; he agreed, since that's way too dangerous. You'll be getting research assignments…Dumbledore remembered how you, Ron, and Hermione managed to find out about the Sorcerer's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets your first two years." Sirius sighed. "Last year, we had all the clues, all the things fit together…if only we'd known about Crouch's son switching with his mother…."

"But Sirius," Harry protested, trying to ignore the thoughts about Barty Crouch Jr., "Hermione figured out all the stuff! I'm only good for getting into the middle of things." He felt a desperation rise in him, just as it had before his initiation. He couldn't live up to their expectations!

Sirius raised an eyebrow at that. "You'll do fine, don't worry. And," he said, his voice becoming very clear, firm, and full of warning, "you had better make sure you stay out of the middle of things this school year."

Harry sighed gloomily. "Besides, I don't think I'm cut out for any of this…. Like Moody's training? I bet he'll just turn both me _and _Malfoy into ferrets as soon as we step into the room and yell 'constant vigilance!'" As an afterthought, Harry added morosely, "And then he'll prove how we should always be prepared for the worst by bouncing us off the walls."

Sirius laughed at that, and slapped Harry's back lightly. "Well, maybe. Probably. But Harry, listen to me." Sirius' voice subdued, became quiet, but very steadfast. "You are an incredible person. You have handled situations in admirable ways. You are a patient, loyal, trustworthy, and hardworking person. You're noble, brave, merciful, smart, and kind. You're all that and more. You have done amazing things after you set your mind to it." Sirius observed Harry as they walked. "You need more confidence in that, and who you are."

Harry didn't reply, not used to such high, honest praise from anyone before, not feeling as though he deserved it.

They both stopped walking when they found that Remus had stopped in front of a blank portrait.

Remus and Sirius exchanged grins. "So, boys, what do you want on your portrait?"

**dorms**

**end**

****

**A/N:** There we go.  Smoother.  Remus and Sirius are adults, yet their Marauder-ness shows up.  Right.

Please review :) Leave your e-mail address in a review to be added to my mailing list.

~Jedi Cosmos


	5. decorating draco style

**Author's Note:** Revised chapter five.

**decorating**

**draco style**

"What?" Draco asked in surprise.

While walking to the new rooms, Draco had rediscovered to pieces of information about his former Defense teacher: that he was just as nice he had seemed before, that and he still didn't like the man, no matter how nice he was.  _The same goes for Black,_ Draco thought derisively. He knew why he didn't like Black: the man was a devil.  And Lupin was just too nice.  There was something he didn't like about nice people.

They had gone up spiraling steps to find themselves in an area very much like that under Professor Trelawney's tower; an empty cul-de-sac. The whole place was round, and a small room in itself. The only think that made it stand out was a blank portrait frame in the middle of the wall.

"Exactly what I mean," Remus said, "what picture do you want on the portrait? You'll get to talk to them and everything afterwards."

Draco and Harry exchanged glances, shrugging. Remus then frowned, and shook his head. "Well, you can decide that last. Let's get the inside done first."

So pulling the empty portrait frame back, Harry, Draco, and Sirius followed Remus up a short set of spiral stairs, and when Remus stepped back to reveal the room to Harry and Draco, they were both shell-shocked.

They were peering into a blank room, devoid of furniture and furnishings. It was a small common room.  Right across from where they were standing, there was a large fireplace.

"This isn't all," Sirius said, grinning at the amazement on Harry's face. He led Harry around the side of the circular common room and down another hall on the right side of it. The hall opened to a large bedroom, with an attached bathroom in it. Harry's trunk was already there, looking very forlorn in the center of the room.

"Sirius," Harry managed to breathe, "is this all just for _us_?"

Sirius eyes sparked with light, such a shockingly better improvement from the deadened look they usually held. "All yours, kiddo." Sirius' grin became more devious. "But it's really quite empty…we have to decorate it first! Let's start with the common room."

Harry eagerly followed Sirius to the common room, where Draco had returned after exploring his own room.

"All right," Remus said, "first agree on a color theme."

"Green," was Draco's first word.

"I don't like green," Harry said with a frown.

"Well, don't expect me to let you choose Gryffindor colors."

"Then definitely no Slytherin colors."

Sirius grinned as he watched the two go through a myriad of colors—neither really seemed to care what the room would end up like, but they did seem to want to give each other a hard time. Sirius took the moment to take a closer look at Harry—he looked pretty much exactly like James did at that age, except that Harry was quite thin. It irked Sirius that he couldn't stay and take care of Harry full-time as he should have done, but also proudly told himself that Harry was always able to look after himself.

Finally, after two minutes of calling out colors and insults, the two boys settled on light blue and black—of course, neither had come to that conclusion alone.  More like, it was that Remus had forcefully _suggested_ it.

"Okay," Remus said, taking over the teaching part, "to change the color of the walls, point your wands at the wall you will color. You say _fieri_ and then the color you want."

Both boys nodded.

Sirius sighed and looked at them apologetically. "Dumbledore told us to meet him right away, after dropping you off." He glanced at Remus, his best friend. "Should we go right away, or do you think it'll be all right to skip it?"

Remus sighed shaking his head at Sirius as he conjured a list for Harry and Draco with all the instructions on it. "No, we should go. Boys, the instructions are on the sheet. I trust you will get along.  And remember—the spells won't work unless you _concentrate_!"

After promising to come back later that night, Sirius and Remus left the two alone. Draco felt the smirk spreading on his face.  He turned to Harry, glanced at the other boy, and deciding he didn't really care to confer with him over anything he did, Draco began to magically paint the walls black.  "_Fieri_ Black!"

There was a big splotch of black on the plain white walls. Harry, who had been watching, stood up, pulling out his wand out of his black robes as well. Pointing near the big splotch that Draco had made, he said, "_Fieri_ Black!"

After a few minutes of working in silence, Harry asked, "Does this spell work only on walls?"

Draco shrugged, "Well, the Latin means 'be done,' and since it's not specific, I suppose it could be used on other objects."

"Good." _Well, if Malfoy doesn't see what's coming, he's not as smart as I thought,_ Harry thought, before pointing his wand at Draco. "_Fieri _Magenta!"

Draco sputtered and blinked as his once fancy and elegant robes had a huge bright pink splotch on it. He looked ready about to spurt out hundreds of angry things. "_Magenta_?" he blurted incredulously. "Potter!"

Harry burst out laughing. "You know, Malfoy," he said in between breaths, "that color really suits you."

"_Fieri _Orange!" Draco exclaimed, pointing at Harry. Harry ducked just in time, and the newly painted black walls had an orange spot on it. But Draco would not give up—he would make Harry pay for the humiliation of pink robes. "This means _war_!"

***

After they were quite exhausted, and their robes were filthy with color, the two boys plopped on the empty floor while glaring at each other challengingly. All the walls, floors, and ceilings were bathed in an indefinite amount of colors, raging from puke green to canary yellow.

"All right, Potter," Draco said, picking himself off the floor and pointing at his own multicolored robes with his wand. "_Clensio_," he said. He pointed at Harry and did the same. "We should finish this part up."

Harry, from his spot on the ground, pointed at all the walls and floor and ceiling, and repeated the incantation, "_Fieri _Black!"

By the time they were done, the room was amazing.  Draco had done all the choosing of colors and materials of the furniture—Harry hadn't cared enough to bother with another argument with the Slytherin boy, though he did have to admit that the place did look good.  The floors had been painted sky blue, and there were gigantic, fluffy couches and armchairs make of black leather around the fire.  Two sets of ebony wood tables and chairs were situated on opposite sides of the room; one for each of the boys.  Stands with black lamps covered with blue shades were placed on ebony stands placed along the walls.  Overhead, blue fires were glowing around the edges of the ceiling.

"Wow," Harry said slowly, trying to find some way to answer Draco, who was glaring at him expectantly.  "Er…very coordinated."

Draco raised a delicate eyebrow, before giving a derisive snort.  Turning to walk towards his room, he waved a hand lazily over his shoulder.  "Do whatever you want with your room, it's beyond my caring.  Just make sure you don't screw up my common room."

Harry watched Draco walk away with an indignant gaze.  _His_ common room?  It was just as much his as it was Harry's, even if he did design it.  Harry suppressed his anger and stomped away down the hall to his own room, grabbing Remus' list on the way.

Painting the walls in his hall scarlet as he went along, and lining the ceiling with golden flames, he went to his room and decorated much the same as it had been in his dorm room.  Red walls, golden fire for lighting, mahogany desk, chair, and wardrobe, with a bookshelf tucked into the corner.  Sighing once he was done, he looked around.  There was one thing the place that still needed to be done.

Consulting Remus' list, and aiming is wand precisely at the opening from the hall into his room, Harry concentrated hard and muttered a spell.  A gold spark shot from his wand, and formed itself into a deep-golden colored door, with a heavy handle.

Harry stared at it a moment after it had formed, and felt a small grin form on his face.  At least with such a door he wouldn't have to worry about Malfoy trying to pull an amateur assassination on him.

**draco style**

**end**

**A/N:** The Latin: _fieri_ means "be done," so I wanted to use it as "be done in this color". _Clensio_ is my own random work from the word "clense" (meaning "to clean");

The revised version's a bit more in character.  Originally, I think it was too happy; Harry and Draco seemed more like friends than enemies trying hard not to making it real obvious that they're trying to show each other up.  Ah well.  Leave your e-mail address in a review to be added to my mailing list.

~Jedi Cosmos


	6. a meeting with the portrait

**Author's Note:** Revised number 6.

**a meeting with the**

****

**portrait**

When he entered the common room, Draco was already reclining in one of the chairs, a hearty fire lit in the front of the room in the hearth. Harry went and joined him, sitting in the opposite chair, feeling very tired.

"So, what do we put for the portrait picture?" Harry asked, pushing aside his earlier irritation to speak to the other.

Draco shrugged. "Well, I want to put a person so we can talk to them. They have to be okay with us sneaking out and stuff."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "But who?"

Draco shrugged, and looked at Harry. Harry looked back. When he realized that Draco was staring at him, he asked, "What?"

"You prat," Draco replied, his voice somewhat—somehow—more awake than usual; lacking that lethargic component that was always so integral to it being what it was. "Don't you ever use that brain of yours?"

"Only when need be," Harry replied caustically, yawning.  He wished he could give Malfoy a good poke in the head….

"Your _dad_!" Draco blurted, his eyes wide.

Harry stopped in mid-yawn and his jaw snapped shut. Shaking his head slightly, he asked, "Is that _possible_?"

"Yes," Draco replied, "he's dead, and all you need is a picture of them to do this!  And my father told me all about yours—he was a great trouble maker, wasn't he?"

"Hold on a moment," Harry said, rushing back to his room, a tingly feeling of giddy excitement rushing up his spine, leaving him lightheaded. He threw everything in his trunk aside, reaching for the picture album that Hagrid had made for him his first year. Running back to the common room, he and Draco both settled on the couch, side to side, and opened the picture portrait. The smiling faces of Lily and James Potter appeared in every picture.

"Which one?" Harry asked, breathless with excitement.

"One of only them," Draco replied, looking at the pictures carefully. They finally stopped at a picture of James, wearing dark dress robes and smiling, with Godric's Hollow behind him and Lily Potter beside him, and decided it was the best one to use.

"Are you sure you want your mother in there?" Draco asked rather bluntly, eyeing the muggle-born witch in the picture with mounting distaste.

"Stuff it, Malfoy," Harry replied easily.  "If she married my dad, then she probably wouldn't mind much as a portrait if we left our dorm after hours."

Going out into the outer tower, they peered at the instructions.

"This spell takes a bit of work," Draco muttered. "Put the picture on the frame." Harry put the picture in, managing to stick the bottom side in the frame and leaned it back against the blank part. It was very small compared to the big frame it was supposed to fit into.

"Then we have to say '_imagus_' repeatedly while concentrating on the strongest memory of him you have." Draco frowned. "I can't do this then."

Harry didn't look at Draco. "The only memories I have of either of my parents was when they were murdered and…some recent things. Would they do?"

Draco shrugged.  "Lupin didn't write that." He paused, and added as an afterthought, "Then just concentrate on what people have told you about them. What you know of them—or conceive them to have been."

Harry nodded slightly, and positioned himself in front of the picture, a few feet away. "_Imagus_!" A powerful red jet emerged from the tip of Harry's wand, hitting the picture straight on. _Concentrate_! he told himself.

He imagined his mother laughing, arm in arm with his father at their wedding. He imagined the mischievous twinkle in his father's eyes, and his gentle smile. He imagined his mother's bright, beautiful red hair curling around her face, framing it loosely.

Draco watched as the red jet engulfed the picture, and spread to fill the blank area in the frame. A minute later, the sparkly red went away, and the picture of the young Potter couple was perfectly proportioned to fit the frame. Harry didn't notice Draco coming to stand beside him, and stared at his parents.

As the spell completed itself, Harry stood back, and breathing slightly harder than usual, he watched and felt a swelling hope that his spell had worked.

It had.

James Potter moved around, looking out of the portrait. He suddenly seemed to notice Draco and Harry gaping at him.

"Oh, look, Lily," he said wryly, pointing at Harry, "it's mini-me."

Lily Potter's face glowed. "_Harry_! You're all grown up!"

"Mum?" Harry gasped, his voice high-pitched and light. Just the shock of seeing a talking Lily Potter made him watch in awe.

"Yes, dear," Lily replied. She sighed. "We've died, haven't we? I'm sorry I couldn't raise you, but I'm sure Sirius did a good job." She suddenly narrowed her eyes at Harry. "He hasn't been feeding you well!"

"Shush, honey," James said. "Harry, do you play Quidditch?"

"Seeker," Draco replied for Harry, who was too busy staring to realize that someone was talking to him.

James grinned. "Excellent! I was a chaser, myself."

Sirius and Remus chose that moment to return to Draco and Harry. When they entered the round room, they stared at the portrait.

"Hi Padfoot, Moony!" James exclaimed, looking very excited. "What have—"

Suddenly, Lily interrupted, unleashing the rage of a mother upon Sirius. "Sirius?  What have you been feeding my son?  He's too thin!"

"L-l-lily?" Sirius gasped, doing a very nice imitation of someone whom had just been Petrified.

"So we've been dead for a while now," James said thoughtfully, the glee fading from the picture's face. "Hm."

Sirius stared hard at James, before shaking his head.  "You both are the guardian portrait of the dorm behind this portrait.  No one but authorized Order of the Phoenix members are allowed to enter.  You will know whether they lie or not, if anyone approaches."

James and Lily nodded, before they backed away from the edge of the portrait picture and went into the house beside them.  As portrait pictures, they knew their duty.

"All right," Remus said, smiling kindly at Harry, "time for both of you to go to bed.  It's very late."

Grumbling, Draco went through the portrait and went to his own room. However, Harry stood stock still, staring at the portrait. He suddenly seemed to shake himself out of the trance he had fallen into, and sharply looking away, he hastily went up the spiral staircase, shutting the portrait gently.

**portrait**

**end**

****

**A/N:** Done.  Not nearly as sappy, and Draco isn't abnormally nice.  The portrait having James and Lily in it is very important, but it will not play a major role in the story.  No, James and Lily are not coming back in this fic, either.  Hope you all liked it!  Leave your e-mail address in a review to be added to my mailing list.

~ Jedi Cosmos


	7. begin the training

**Author's Note:** Revised chapter 7!!

**begin the **

****

**training**

When Harry awoke the next morning, he automatically reached for his eyeglasses. Fumbling as he pushed them into the correct position atop his nose, he sleepily peered around the room, for a moment, completely forgetting where he was. As the events of the previous night came rushing to him, he flopped back and stared at the disco ball that was spinning from its place on the ceiling.

_I didn't have a dream last night. _He sighed, watching the shadows change according to the direction of the flames wrapping his ceiling, and started to wrack his mind about the Order of the Phoenix. What was their goal? To destroy Voldemort, of course. But _how_? And what significance did the Phoenix Chant have? Did it give them special powers, that tingly thing?

Suddenly, unbidden in his mind, the fading memory of the initiation rose. _Why_ had they been staring at him? And why had the Chant hurt so badly…but _not_, at the same time?

He slowly stood, stretching his stiff limbs and making his way towards the spacious bathroom, taking a nice, warm shower. Afterwards, he stood in front of the mirror, drying his hair with a towel. He stared at his reflection, noticing the still-dark bags under his eyes. Yet he felt a bit better—he wanted to get dressed and speak to the portrait of his parents for a bit before finding Sirius and getting a better idea of everything.

Dressing in his Hogwarts robes and uniform, mainly because all his muggle clothing was too large for him to wear comfortably, he went out of his room, down the narrow hall, and to the mini-common room. He was surprised to find Draco sitting on one of the comfortable couches, reclining as he sipped on icy water and flipped another page of a book he was reading.

Harry decided he might as well be polite and sat in the chair farthest from where Draco was sitting. "Good morning," Harry said, not knowing what else to say.

Draco gave a soft snort, not even looking up from his book. "It's already past noon."

Harry gave a shrug that Draco couldn't see, and leaned back. "Well, then, good afternoon."

When Draco didn't reply, Harry got up and exited from the portrait, letting it swing back and then facing it. 

He turned to find the portrait empty, and figured that his portrait parents were probably either in their home in the further depths of the picture or visiting other portraits. Realizing he was disappointed, he gave himself a mental shake. _They're dead, and you can't change that_._ Don't get too attached to the portrait_. _It's a stupid picture that talks_. _Do _not_ get attached to a talking picture_!

He jumped when the portrait swung backwards and almost hit him, and frowned as he saw Draco walking past it and shutting it. Draco walked past him, and continued down the stairs of the tower.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, slightly hurrying to catch up.

"Moody. We have to meet him for training in fifteen minutes."

Harry frowned. "Why didn't you wake me up then?"

"I would have if you hadn't gotten up."

Harry was half-annoyed that Draco didn't tell him about the meeting and half-thankful that he had let him get some extra sleep. As he walked behind the slightly taller boy, he thought about the strange circumstance. He had never before had a normal—or what one could _call_ normal—conversation with Draco, besides the very first time they met in Madam Malkin's robe shop. It was strange to be able to talk to him, to _have_ to talk to him, to work with him. Most of the time he would be rude and disdainful. But there were those times…a few moments when he would _seem_ like a normal teenage boy, his silver, normally stone-cold eyes sparkling mischievously, his pale face flushed with excitement.  Then he would go being a Malfoy again and Harry would be absolutely sure that Dumbledore had made a serious mistake in trusting him.

He almost walked into Draco, and realized that they had stopped right in front of the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office.

"What're we here for?" Harry started to ask, but before he could finish the question, the gargoyle sprung back and Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody walked out. His face was just as scarred up as he remembered the impostor's to be, and gave an involuntary shudder as he remembered all the events that had taken place during the school year.

Mad-Eye Moody jumped at the sight of them so close, and took a moment to compose himself. _He must be even more paranoid from last year_, thought Harry.

Moody's glass eye fixed on him, as if knowing the reason for Harry's discomfort. "Come along, you two."

With that, Harry and Draco followed Mad-Eye Moody obediently to an empty classroom. When they had entered the room, Mad-Eye Moody turned around, shutting the door with a loud _thump!_

"Sit," he growled. Harry and Draco sat in the only two chairs in the room, both, incidentally facing forward as if they were in a grade-school classroom.

Moody started pacing as he spoke in a low, hoarse voice. "You, until term begins, will learn the essentials of combat. Simple, rudimentary, keys that will give you the upper hand in this war."

Moody suddenly stopped pacing and turned to face them; bending so he could be face to face with them. "You're going to need every ruddy skill you can muster. That means both magic and otherwise." He stood to his full height. "Give me your wands."

Reluctantly, Harry pulled his wand out of the pocket it had been jutting out of and handed it to Moody.

Moody pocketed both of the wands, then stepped back from them a few feet, his own wand still firmly in his hand. "If it comes down to it, by the time I'm finished, you _will_ be quite competent opponents for the Death Eaters."

Turning, Moody opened the door of the classroom, and just as he stepped out, he flicked his wand at them.

The two chairs, as if the backs had gigantic magnets attached to them, spun a good ninety degrees, smacked the backs together loudly, and thin, strong, tight ropes wrapped themselves around the whole length of Harry and Draco's bodies, binding them to the chairs, and to each other.

"What are you doing, you—?!" Draco exclaimed furiously. Harry felt that it was a good idea that Draco couldn't hadn't thought of addressing Moody until _after_ the man had smiled grimly then shut the door.

In silence, both boys could hear Moody's wooden leg hitting the stone floors as he walked down the hall. Moments later, the sound faded, leaving them with nothing but each other.

"Well…" Harry said dolefully, breaking the silence. "Can't say that I didn't expect something like this from him...."

"Shut up, Potter," Draco groaned. "How the hell are we supposed to get ourselves loose? That crazy man, he had this planned from the beginning!"

"No kidding," Harry snapped, not exactly in the mood to put up with Draco's whining. "At least he didn't turn us into ferrets."

The mention of that episode was enough to make Draco's cheeks flush with anger and his fists clench. "That was _not_ funny!"

Harry, who hadn't even been slightly amused when he mentioned it, sniggered. "Yes it was! It was _hilarious_!"

"Potter!" Draco growled, "stop talking before I hex you!"

"Try to," Harry chuckled, "Ferret Boy."

Draco tried to rip himself from the grip of the ropes, and instead of loosening the ropes, he unbalanced the chairs, and almost toppled them both over.

"_Stop_ it, Malfoy!" Harry growled, loosing patience. "Let's just try to do this calmly! The sooner we get loose, the better!"

"Fine," Draco replied, sulky but still defiant. "Do you think hopping the chair will work?"

"If we do hop someplace, we need something to cut the rope still," Harry replied. "Did you pay attention to where we are?"

"Portrait right next to the one for the kitchen," Draco replied mechanically. "If we can get into the kitchen, then we can tell one of the house elves to cut us loose."

"Isn't that cheating though?" Harry asked. "I thought we had to get out of this ourselves…"

"Look, Potter," Draco said impatiently, "this isn't the real thing, okay? Can you tell the difference between your imagination and reality? If the house elves let us loose now, it won't affect us when—_if_—we're ever in this kind of situation with Death Eaters."

"Yeah, right," Harry replied, his voice getting cold, "you're a fool, Malfoy, if you think that this doesn't have a point. Do you think that if Death Eaters capture us, that a house elf will come about and let us go? Do you think a Death Eater would let us go? The point of this, Malfoy, is to teach us how to escape this kind of thing on our _own_, without having to rely on luck."

Draco didn't have a reply to that, but still sulked. "I don't care," he shot, just for the sake of saying _something_ to put down Potter. "If I asked to, the Death Eaters would take me and make me one of them. You'd die alone."

"Better die than become the slave of a murdering psychopath and renounce my humanity," Harry shot back vehemently. He wondered how Draco could expect the Death Eaters to take him in after knowing that he had betrayed them to Dumbledore.

Draco laughed at that. It was a hollow, empty laugh, but the dead amusement was clear. "You are _such_ a Gryffindor, Potter," Draco said, his voice just as icy as Harry's was. "Such a dumb, idealistic idiot, you are." Draco stopped laughing, yet the smirk that was so dominant on his pointy face had reappeared, leaving a cruel expression on the young boy's face. "I never believed that you were special, Potter, not like anyone else. You're nothing. Whatever your mother did to save you worked, Potter, but it had absolutely nothing to do with you. Any baby would have survived that, with the charm."

Harry growled in retaliation, but didn't deny it.  In fact, he believed that Draco was right, for the most part.  It was what Harry himself believed to be the truth, anyway.

Draco laughed again, slowly, harshly. "You know, Potter, you're a Gryffindor, I can see that. But if there was any other house you'd belong to, it's Slytherin."

"I think of myself as a touch less evil, thank you," Harry said pointedly.

"Yeah, right, Potter," Draco sneered. "I've seen that look on your face after you win a Quidditch match, or when you get something done right. I've seen the look on your face when you're angry. You're a _Parselmouth_, for crying out loud. If I hadn't heard it out of my father's mouth what happened the night of the Third Task, I'd say that you _did_ kill Diggory, it was your fault he was there after all—"

Suddenly the sound of breaking glass erupted all over the room. Desks flew all over the room, making loud, cracking noises as they hit the walls. Smaller objects crashed from their places to the floor. The temperature of the room seemed to drop a few notches.

Draco's wide eyes blinked, and slowly, as if he had traced the source, he tried to turn his head towards Harry. "You —" Draco paused, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Harry's eyes were blank, devoid of emotion, as he spoke back in a frigid, deadly tone.  "_Don't_ make me angry, Malfoy.  I won't put up with you."

To this Draco had no harsh reply. "Look, Potter," he started uncomfortably, itching to get away from the Gryffindor boy. "I didn't…didn't mean what I said, all right? You didn't kill Diggory. I know what happened.  You did—you did—well, you did what any stupid Gryffindor like yourself would do, all right?"

After a few moments of silence, Harry laughed—a quiet, hoarse laugh, as if he hadn't laughed in a long while. "I can't tell if you're trying to be nice or if you're trying to insult me."

"Insulting you is preferable over anything else," Draco grumped.

"Too bad it doesn't happen often, eh, Malfoy?"

Draco would really have liked to glare at Harry at this point, but couldn't, so he settled for banging his head backwards against Harry's head.

"Ow!" Harry said, ducking his head. "What'd you do that for, you prat?"

"Because I don't have a wand, I can't use my hands, and I really wanted to hurt you somehow," Draco replied, as if it were obvious.

"Oh, that's smart," Harry mused sarcastically, "just crack both our skulls, very clever, Malfoy, did you make that up yourself? I'll keep it in mind, you know, if we're caught by Death Eaters and tied together, I'll make sure to remember: don't panic—just crack your skull open! That'll solve a lot of problems, that will —"

"Stuff it!" Draco snapped, losing what had been the cobbled amount of patience he had mustered. He started struggling fiercely against the hold of the ropes.

"Make me," Harry replied dryly.

Draco eventually stopped struggling and the only thing either of them could hear was Draco's panting. Suddenly, near the corner of the classroom, there was a thump against the wall. Both Harry and Draco snapped their heads towards that wall. After a few moments of cautious listening, Draco asked, "What was that?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Harry asked absently, still peering suspiciously at the walls. There was one instance, in the Shrieking Shack, when Snape had sneaked in wearing James Potter's Invisibility Cloak (an heirloom from his father of Harry's) that related to this.

"Well, we must have just imagined it or something."

"There's someone there," Harry said flatly.

Draco looked hopeful. "Whoever is there, untie us _now_!"

As Draco kept demanding for someone to untie him, Harry stared at the wall, taking in everything about it. He was a seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, the youngest in a century when he began—he had a knack for spotting things that others didn't. Patiently taking in every single inch of the wall, he stopped when his eyes rested on a very small hole.

"Hey, Malfoy," he said, sufficiently shutting the blond up. "Look over there, upper center of the wall…you see? That hole shouldn't be there."

Draco narrowed his eyes at the wall. "My father had one of these at the Manor, he told me about it, but I never found which wall it was.  Potter, there are some spells you can put on a wall, so it's still there, but if you look at it from one side you can see through to the other side…this must be one of them."

"Great," Harry said dryly, "just great. And they won't let us go. Ugh."

"Potter?"

"What?"

"We have this training course every day." Draco's voice was hardened with determination.

"Yeah."

"I say we ambush Moody and give him some type of potion to forget we even exist."

Harry paused, and decided it wouldn't hurt just to think about it. "You think you could get Snape to help you with that? I don't reckon him liking anyone but you and Dumbledore, so he wouldn't mind much, would he?"

Draco cracked a smirk. "Snape would never risk an irritated Dumbledore."

"You know, whoever is on the other side of that wall is hearing all this."

"So hopefully," Draco replied with a faint drawl, "it won't be a goody-goody like your Godfather or Lupin…or McGonagall, or Hagrid, or, well…anyone but Snape. We would have heard Moody coming around the other way."

Harry frowned. "They're all ten times nicer than Snape.  And I don't think Sirius would keep us from playing a prank…mind, he might want to help…."

"Oh, well," Draco replied wistfully. "It's not like a potion like that even exists."

Harry smirked. "With my dumb luck and your limited knowledge of potions, we might have a shot at making one."

"I'm better in Potions than you could ever hope to be," Draco sneered.

Harry would have shrugged if he could. "I'd be doing better if Snape wasn't failing me for the fun of it."

"Crabbe and Goyle do better than you do in Potions!" Draco exclaimed.

"That only serves to prove my point," Harry said dully. "Okay, since I think the ropes are cutting off my circulation, can we go back to trying to hop our way towards something sharp that will cut the rope?"

"Why bother?" asked Draco, "_someone_ is sitting out there."

"Yeah, Malfoy," Harry retorted, "and obviously they're not helping us. So we have to find a way ourselves. Okay?"

Draco Malfoy gritted his teeth. He knew he would not enjoy this a single bit.

***

Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Diedra Diggle, Orpheus Sanders, and Severus Snape watched the two boys as they started chair-hopping towards the door. With all the noise the two were making, the adults felt it safe to talk.

"Amazing," Diedra said light-headedly, pushing her shoulder-length, wavy brown hair out of her bright hazel eyes. "Did—did I see what I think I saw?"

Orpheus nodded. "Yep." A bit taller than Diedra, he peered through pastel blue eyes through his somewhat long (about ear-length) dirty blond hair. With a calm disposition, Orpheus was a valuable Auror.

Diedra Diggle, meanwhile, was the only daughter of Dedalus Diggle, a small, cheerful, and hyperactive man that was one of England's leading transfiguration lecturers. She was just as excitable as her father, but had a constant fascination with dark creatures. Diedra was an Auror as well—her specialty, fighting dark creatures.  She had a strange compassion for them, though.

Sirius, Remus, Diedra, Orpheus, and Severus had all gone to Hogwarts at the same time, all in the same year. They had been acquaintances, good friends one could say (save for Snape, who had devoted his school years to hating them all). After witnessing Harry's loss of control over his emotions, in which everything in the room broke or fell, the five adults had been stunned into silence.

Their original motive for watching the two boys was to see how they interacted with each other—to see how long it would take to train them, gouge the extent of their knowledge, their capability and such. None of them had expected what had happened.

They moved a few feet back to whisper.

"What was that?" Snape hissed as soon as he could. "Black, did you _know_ Potter could do wandless magic to that extent?"

Sirius shook his head in wonder, his eyes fixed on Harry. "No."

Remus shook his head. "Okay, we should all stay calm about this —"

"He's a _Parselmouth_!" Diedra gushed excitedly, forgetting about the main point momentarily. "He can talk to _snakes_!"

Remus' calm expression remained steady, though his lips pressed thin, a habit Sirius was sure he had picked up from working around McGonagall. "Don't tell me you think just because of that the boy is evil?"

"No, silly," Diedra said in a goofy tone. "I mean he can talk to _snakes_! That's such a wonderful ability!"

Snape sneered. "Yet, you must admit, the boy _is_ susceptible to becoming a great evil and has been showing the signs quite frequently —"

"Hey, now Severus —"

"Shut up, Snape," Sirius spat, interrupting Orpheus, and glaring at Snape even harder than Diedra. "Come on, we're going to the Phoenix Room, it's nearly time for the meeting."

They started walking down the large corridor in a tense silence. When they reached the portrait painting of Fawkes, the portrait swung open with a soft tweet. Seeing that everyone else was already gathered, they immediately took their seats around the table and glanced around.

"Now, for business," Orpheus began the discussion. "Hagrid, how is it with the Giants?"

"Ever'thin's goin' all righ'," Hagrid said with a slow nod. "Olympe's still workin' negotiations, but the Giants are leanin' our way."

"That's a relief," Flitwick chimed in, his voice squeaky as ever. "What about Fudge and the Ministry?"

"Still not believing it," Sirius said in a tired voice, which was much grimmer and more serious than usual. "I don't see them believing us until after a very grave situation."

"Can you tell us anything else? Something new?" McGonagall asked.

"The Dementors haven't been taken off Azkaban property yet, but they're getting restless," Flora Fritts admitted. Flora had long blond hair with light green eyes. She was specialized in strategy as an Auror, making her a prime member of the Order.

ChardaeMoppins was a man with light brown eyes, and dark brown hair that was cut short. A talent at disguise, he was there to help the Order with incognito missions.  He grunted. "If only Fudge would take a look at the world around him, he would see that the invasion has begun."

Mundungus Fletcher snorted derisively. "Even if Fudge _did_ believe us, he's too dim-witted to do anything about it!" Fletcher was an older man, and had attended Hogwarts as a seventh year while Minerva McGonagall was in her first. He wasn't seeing quite well as he used to, but insisted that he needed no magical assistance or glasses. He was also absent-minded, and would forget things from time to time, but when he was in his element, he was a brilliant person when it came to distractions and stealth.

"Anything else so far?" No one had anything to say.

Moody turned to Sirius, Remus, Severus, Diedra, and Orpheus. "How're the boys?"

Sirius stood and started pacing as Remus calmly explained that after getting over their dismay at the situation, they had continued past that to bicker, threaten each other, and then to conspire against the Order; more specifically, against Moody himself. After trying and failing to suppress a grin at the alarmed Auror, Remus added, "But they've started trying to find something sharp to cut the rope."

"At least they're doing well," Flitwick remarked.

"_No_," Sirius said, so angrily and violently that everyone glanced up in shock. "Everything's _not_ going well." He still hadn't stopped pacing. "He's blaming himself for what's happened, he's convinced that Diggory died because of him…. He doesn't understand his place in this, he doesn't understand how important he is in this, he's too young…" Sirius paused, running his hands through his hair.

If anyone had any doubts about Sirius Black's loyalties, this mere act of concern for his beloved godson confirmed that fact that Sirius was innocent of all charges and the good man they had always known.

Flora stood and patted Sirius arm, trying to calm him. "Sirius, he'll be fine, all right? We're all here for him, and we'll help him, okay?"

"No," Sirius moaned softly, resuming his pacing, "you don't know him. He's—he's practically identical to James, but so much more withdrawn…he's been through too much. He won't even talk to me anymore about things, constantly worries whether I'm going to get caught instead of worrying for himself, he's completely selfless —"

Severus let out a short, halting laugh. "You can't be serious," he scoffed. "Potter is _nothing _but a selfish, spoiled, brat. You are infatuated with him, just as you were with his swollen-headed father."

Sirius froze in his steps. Hagrid's startled expression went from disapproval to anger to fury. There was a silence in the room, deafening, and Remus Lupin stood. In such a fierce tone had no one ever heard Remus speak.

"You are a bitter man, Severus."

Those words, though simple and not very impressive in themselves, were enough to pale Severus. Snape's eyebrows creased, and he glared at Lupin with no less hatred than he had before.

Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat. "Keep it civil." Her voice was icy, and her stern expression held barely concealed anger. She had taught James Potter, and Lily Potter, for that matter, and she had been very fond of them, as she was with their son.

"Now then," Orpheus continued, trying to keep things smooth between everyone. "No matter the dispute, the child's protection is our main priority; Sirius, his emotional state is up to you.  Leave any personal grudges you have out of this."

Sirius, throwing a glare at Snape and starting to pace again, nodded.

"Something else happened," Diedra Diggle said, speaking up for the first time during the meeting. Her voice was absent, lacking the usual warmth it contained; it was analytical. "I haven't seen it like that anywhere…." She took a deep breath. "There's something…_different_…about Harry…." She trailed off.

"What is it?" Arabella Figg asked sharply. She cared for Harry as her brother did, and did not take it lightly when something was wrong with him.

"He—he did wandless magic," Diedra trailed off.

Professor Flitwick shrugged. "Many magical children can do wandless magic to a certain extent—it's based on unconscious emotion. It's very normal."

Diedra shook her head adamantly. "No, no! There was something strange about it…you said it yourself, they can do wandless magic to a certain extent! And it fades, that power, it fades! His emotion, his anger, was not focused, Filius, it was simply immense! He trashed the room in a single moment! Don't you understand?"

"He was very angry," Snape said shrewdly. It was the first thing he had said after Remus's admonishment.

There was a tense silence, which Alastor Moody broke. "Yep, the lad's got power."

"He needs control," McGonagall snapped sternly. She sighed, massaging her temples. "Harry never seems any different than any of the other children I teach," she said slowly. "He's not the exceptional student. He doesn't apply himself. He's not like Lily or James in that aspect—he's not brilliant in his studies."

"He was excellent at Defense," Remus said, his eyes far away, as if they were focused on something only he could see. "Best among all my students, actually…. His Patronus must have been incredibly powerful, to fend off those Dementors while I taught him…he learned it in a very short amount of time."

"And what about the initiation?" Chardae asked, thoughtfully chewing on his lower lip. "The symbol, the fire, the glow—it was all bigger than meant to be. What does that mean?"

"He's the Key," Remus said, his expression terse, his eyebrows knitted. "The Key to Furmat—which is completely logical, as James before him was the Key as well—but there was still something different about it…."

"The honor of the Key isn't hereditary, is it?" Flora asked.

Professor Flitwick shook his head. "It shouldn't be at all, but of course it all depends on the bloodline. But besides that point, no one since Gryffindor himself accessed the Phoenix Gate. Maybe if we could find records, we might be able to access —"

Sirius brought his head up sharply. "Are you saying that Harry can access the Phoenix Gate?" His anger was boiling inside him, and this just added to the trouble, and he didn't even want to stop to consider. "I'm not letting him do anything involving the Order, period."

Hagrid growled, softly. "'Arry's not going ter be pleased," Hagrid pointed out, kindly. "'e'll figure i' out. 'e'd like ter know from yeh."

"He's just a child!" Sirius snapped, unable to control his anger.

"He's not so much anymore," a voice suddenly spoke out. The startled Order turned to find Albus Dumbledore situated in a deep corner of the room, his long, slender fingers knit together. He was looking at the wall as if seeing something that wasn't there, looking completely past them as he spoke.

"He's not a child anymore. He's seen things that would terrify any grown and accomplished wizard, things that would reduce them into nothing. He's been through more than that's imaginable—parents dead at the age of one, living with a family that hated him for being different. In his first year, he had only barely started getting used to the idea of being famous for something he didn't understand—didn't remember—and his first encounter with Voldemort since he can remember. Second year, he was accused of all the crimes that were committed by the Heir of Slytherin, and all the students in the school had turned against him since he was a Parseltongue. Third year—Dementors. Every time one came near he would hear and see Voldemort murdering his parents. Just recently in his fourth year, after the Third Task—he dueled with Voldemort, saw his parents' ghosts, saw a friend die right beside him."

Dumbledore turned his head slightly to face everyone, and radiating that power of his, he said in a quietly fierce tone, "Harry is not a child. Honor what he has done, and honor what he has sacrificed. Treat him as the member of the Order he is."

After a heavy silence, in which everyone debated within themselves, knowing that no matter what, they couldn't let danger come to the boy.

***

"We're not getting anywhere."

"No kidding."

There was a long silence between the two boys.

"Well," Harry said, trying to muster as much cheer into his voice as he could. "They're going to have to come to feed us eventually."

Draco groaned.

At one point, while Harry was trying to figure out a way to turn the doorknob of the classroom, Draco had accidentally unbalanced the chairs. They had slammed into the door hard, both completely bowling the door over, and had been knocked sideways to the floor.

Harry heard a sound vibrating through the stone floor, a loud thumping sound of some sort…. He felt a shadow fall over him, and tilted his head until he could look up.

Sirius was standing over him with a feral grin on his face. "Hello, Harry."

**training**

**end**

****

**A/N:** Ah…  I'm armed with the cut option, narrowing out my chapters!!  Bwahaha!  Evil shortening!  Anyway…  If you'd like to be on my mailing list, please leave a review or e-mail me.  And please review :) I love hearing from you!

~ Jedi Cosmos ~ 


	8. WARNING: REVISION NOTICE

**WARNING!**

Chapters beyond this point have NOT been revised!  The revised chapters WILL be posted soon, and there will be significant differences!  Unless you want to read it again, I suggest waiting the extra time.  That, and I'd prefer everyone not reading my worse writing :P

Thanks for reading though! And leave your e-mail address in a review or e-mail me if you'd like to be put on my mailing list :D

~ Jedi Cosmos


	9. deceiving dreams

**Author's Note:** Soon shall come the start of the new term, where Ron and Hermione come in…mind, you might not like what I'm planning for them. Not death, but still. Oh well…REVIEW!

Oh!  By the way, I've started a mailing list now…either e-mail me or leave your e-mail address in a review, and I'll make sure to contact you when a new chapter is up! ^-^

Please give me new fic, "Catch Me" a shot and read it!

**deceiving**

**dreams**

Harry couldn't help but smile at Sirius, even though he was bound to a chair that had toppled to the floor a while ago.  "Hi!"

"Need help?" Sirius asked, eyeing the broken door.

"Yes, please," Harry replied.  Sirius took out his wand and flicked it at the ropes.  As soon as they could, both Draco and Harry had gotten up.  While Harry rubbed his right wrist, which had gone numb from the weight that had been on it earlier, Draco was halfway through a temper-tantrum; ranting about the injustice of having Moody for a teacher.

When Draco had finished, Sirius grinned quickly, and started walking back down the hall.  "We're going to see Dumbledore."

That was enough to keep both boys quiet as they walked the familiar path to the stone gargoyle.

Once they were inside and seated in Dumbledore's office, with Harry sitting between Sirius and Draco, who was closer to the door.  Harry couldn't help but feel nervous as they waited in silence for Dumbledore.

Dumbledore entered his office from a side room; Harry had been paying little attention, so hadn't really noticed where the entrance was.  Dumbledore's face spread into a smile, as he said, "Hello, Draco, Harry."

The two boys mumbled their greetings quietly.  Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.  "Now, then, boys…we're going to arrange your schedules and such now, as to make things easier for you to adjust to when term begins."

Harry and Draco nodded.

Dumbledore continued smoothly.  "I suppose that seating and classes will be quite troublesome….  Draco, although you will not stay in the same dorm as the Slytherins, you will still be part of that House and be responsible for those students.  As the same goes for you, Harry.

"For your classes…you will be taking Transfiguration with Gryffindor, History of Magic and Charms with Slytherin, Defense and Astronomy with the Ravenclaws, and Divination with Hufflepuff.  You'll have Potions with Slytherin and Gryffindor, Herbology with Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, and Care of Magical Creatures with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff….  I presume this is all right with both of you?"

"I suppose," Harry replied, shrugging.  He looked to Draco for confirmation, and the blond boy shrugged.

Dumbledore shook his head.  He laughed softly.  "Sirius, would you care to explain the surprise we have in store for them?"

Sirius nodded eagerly, and he turned to them, mostly looking at Harry.  "In light of what's happening, we need a way to cheer students up.  And since the fights between Gryffindor and Slytherin will be sure to escalate, we need a way to put an end to the rivalry and unify the students.  So, we're declaring Hogwarts' first ever…."

He paused for dramatic effect.

"_Prank War_!"

Harry was stunned, but before he could say anything, Sirius continued.

"Now, if you two agree, it'll be a great cover.  You _have_ to agree, really.  For example, we will tell the school that the teachers have chosen people from all four houses to represent their House and year; of which two of you will be.  Now, what will happen is that on one day, Gryffindor gets to attack, but on the next, it's Slytherins turn, and then Ravenclaw, then Hufflepuff.  Only representatives will be able to execute the pranks, and only representatives will get the pranks played _on_."

Harry could almost feel the smirk spreading up Malfoy's face.

"You will have to be prepared for some major humiliation every other day, from any house, either from your year, any year, or all years.  It will make you immune to everyone but each other and the two others chosen for your year.  You can only perform one prank a day, and when you do, it can't be something dangerous.  Make sure you can perform the spell and counter-spell before actually using it on one another.

"Meanwhile, you will have to spend all your classes together, do all your work together.  Our excuse will be that while promoting competition and strategy, we want to prove that you can still be friends as rivals.  You will, eventually, have to be friends.

"No one else will be allowed to do pranks, or else they will get their representatives disqualified.  But they _will_ be allowed to help their representatives with coming up with a prank."

"So there are going to be fourteen people picked for each House, two for each year, and a total of fifty-six students as representatives?" Harry asked.

Draco snorted derisively.  "Who knew, Potter?  You can add."

"Yes," Sirius answered Harry, ignoring Draco's comment.  "There _will_ be Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw competitors, as well as Slytherin and Gryffindor competitors."

"Who is it from our year?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Ah, a Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff, and a Terry Boot from Ravenclaw," Sirius replied cheerfully, looking over a piece of parchment that had a long, scribbled chart.  "And there are four people picked from each year to compete against the other house, so it won't only draw attention to the fifth years.  Look, the houses will get extremely competitive, and that's why we made the rule—any skirmish of any sort reaching our ears, and that House will be disqualified.  All ghosts, portraits, and other magical surveillance items will be on the lookout.  This system will replace the point system for only this year.  And although Quidditch will be played, instead of points, it will count towards that house's successful pranks."

"But will anyone else have to share dorms?" Harry asked.

"No," Sirius admitted.  "But that's because they always get along anyway, from their records and such.  The excuse for you two having to do everything together is because you seriously _don't_ get along.  On Mondays, Slytherins prank, on Tuesdays, Ravenclaws, on Wednesdays, Hufflepuffs prank, and on Thursdays, it's the Gryffindors.  Fridays are free-for-alls, and Saturday and Sunday are days set aside for either peace treaties or meetings.  You have the opportunity to prank any of the Houses opposing, but only one prank per day.  You and the other opponents _can_, although, set up a peace treaty between the houses to team up.  The Prefects are all advisors.  The Head Boy and Girl will be supervising the treaties and peace talks.  So, although you fifty-six will be the only ones actually doing the pranks, everyone participates in how it's going to go."

"So," Professor Dumbledore picked up, "you have your cover.  The next thing we should tell you now.  All of the Order will be in Hogwarts, most of them, at least, unless they are on missions.  You will know them, but they will all be in disguise.  Revealing their true identities could quickly lead to their deaths, so you must pretend as though you know of them only in their disguise.  They will stay in their disguises at all times.

"As you may or may not have noticed, quite a few of the people that were there during your initiations were not, in fact, initiated into the Order of the Phoenix.  This is because they are either not qualified or do not wish to join.  Yes, they are trusted, and that is why they witnessed the initiation, so they too can know who to trust or go to for help, but there are many complications with them becoming members.  They will not attend any more meetings, and they cannot remember any conversations that took place in the Phoenix Room, unless they are in it, which hampers Voldemort from getting any information out of them.

"You will receive training from all of the Order, and will have a schedule given to you when the term begins.  Until then, you must meet with Alastor Moody at five in the afternoon for basic training."

Dumbledore smiled serenely at them.  "Draco, why don't you go on ahead?  Professor Moody wants both of you to write a six-inch essay on the meaning of today's lesson.  Harry's godfather has some issues concerning him."  Draco stood with a nod, and left.

Harry turned to Sirius and Dumbledore, both who were looking unusually serious.  "I will leave you two in privacy," Dumbledore said, standing up and following after Draco.

"So, Harry," Sirius started awkwardly, breaking the silence.  Harry fixed his gaze on Sirius, wondering what he had to talk about.

"Look, Harry," Sirius tried again.  "About what happened in the Third Task…."  Sirius watched in dismay as his godson's face seemed to close down on him, shutting his emotions behind doors.  His eyes seemed to glaze over, a darker shade of the brilliant green they usually were.  Sirius tread softly, and spoke in a gentle tone.  "Cedric's death was _not_ your fault, Harry.  You have to understand that, and accept it.  You did something very noble for him, something that he would have been very thankful for, had he lived.  You couldn't know what would happen."

Harry didn't speak for a few seconds, but said it a very small, distant voice, "I should have known, though.  Everyone was warning me—you, Hermione—even Ron was worried…I should have realized that the end of the task would be it."

Sirius leaned forward, reached to hold Harry's arms tightly.  "No, Harry, you _couldn't_ have realized it, you shouldn't believe that you had to have.  It was a well-thought out and executed plan, Harry, and there was nothing you could have done."

"It still doesn't change the fact that he died because of me," Harry whispered.

Sirius' grip tightened still.  It wrenched his insides when he heard the anguish in Harry's voice…he knew James would roll over in his grave if he knew how hard this had hit Harry, and that Sirius wasn't there for him enough.  Giving Harry a little shake, he snarled in sudden anger.  "It was _not_ your fault.  It is _Voldemort's_ fault, _not_ yours.  Do you understand?"

Harry didn't answer for a long while, and Sirius started getting nervous.  He watched his godson, who's expression never betrayed his thoughts or emotions.  After about five minutes, Harry's voice peeped up again.

"Er, Sirius," Harry said, somewhat nervously, "your hands…."

Sirius looked down to find his knuckles white from gripping Harry so hard, and shocked, pulled away quickly.  "I'm sorry, are you all right?"

Harry nodded, gulping visibly, and he rubbed his left arm softly.  That's where Wormtail had cut him, stolen his blood….

"Chin up, Harry, all right?" Sirius said, using his gentle tone again.  He wasn't sure if it worked—he was never talented with kids, and although he fell in love with Harry when he was born, he wasn't sure if he could handle ever raising him.  He knew that he still would've given anything to raise Harry, and hoped that he would be able to fulfill his position as Harry's godfather well.  "You'll do fine, and no one will let Voldemort get to you, okay?"

Harry nodded mutely.  Sirius was mildly panicked—what was he supposed to do now?  Usually when James was upset, Sirius would talk with him, tell him it'd all be okay, or do something funny to cheer him up—

Hey.

Sirius stood.  "Harry," he said eagerly, willing to do anything to see Harry's face brighten again, "let's play a prank on Snape."

Harry looked up in surprise.  He was about to say something, stopped, and after a moment's hesitation, asked with a glint in his eyes, "What d'you have in mind?"

***

All of the people in Hogwarts—basically the Order and a few of the Hogwarts teachers, all of whom were informed of Sirius' innocence—gathered in the Great Hall for dinner that night.

Harry and Sirius had entered together, and Harry found that Draco was already there, standing in a shadowy area conversing with Snape.  For a moment, Sirius pondered whether or not he should continue with the prank on Snape.  Many a times did he remember McGonagall getting angry with him, her mouth folded into the thinnest of lines.  _Then again, she might not mind this prank,_ Sirius grinned inwardly.

Sirius turned his gaze on Harry, who, after sitting down with the rest of them, picked at his food.  "Don't like it?" Sirius asked softly, knowingly.

Harry looked up, startled, and gave Sirius a smile.  "No, it tastes fine.  In fact, it's wonderful.  Much better than what the Dursleys would give me."

"I'm not talking about the food, Harry," Sirius said.  "You don't like the arrangements we've made for you."

For the first time, Harry felt like voicing his troubles.  Before he could give it a second thought, the words were pouring out of his mouth.  He put down his fork with a soft clang, and after reassuring himself that no one was watching or listening in, he spoke.  "I don't know what's going on in the outside world, Sirius, I don't know anything about—about—_anything_ in this war except that Voldemort is back and he is _evil_, in every sense of the word, and that people are going to die.  I'm not even a good student, Sirius!  How can I possibly be any help?  And what will I do without Ron and Hermione?  I can't do anything without them!"

Sirius didn't reply, but rather stuffed a large spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.  Chewing slowly, more than he really needed to, he replied casually.  "Harry, you've defeated Voldemort in combat four times already—once when you were a baby, once in your first year, his sixteen-year-old self in your second year, and after the Third Task in your fourth.  You've survived Harry, and that takes more than you think it does."

"It was _luck_, Sirius," Harry said, his frustration going up a few notches.  No one seemed to understand!  "When I was a baby, I survived from my mother's charm, in my first year…the charm again and Dumbledore.  My second year, Fawkes saved me, and in my fourth I only survived Avada Kedavra because of my wand.  _None_ of that happened because of me—it was pure luck that got me this far, Sirius."

Sirius bit his lip.  "Harry, you know that's not true.  It takes an immense amount of courage and skill to do what you've done—you just refuse to see it that way.  You—"

Sirius was interrupted by a loud, shocked, and angry yell.  "POTTER!"

Harry turned his head to find everyone in the Order staring from Snape to him.  Professor Snape's usually sallow skin had turned a brilliant, scarlet red, and his hair had gone from a greasy black to a spiky, golden color.  He looked much better.

Harry couldn't help stopping the grin that spread on his face, as Snape's face got redder and redder.  Stifling a laugh, Harry turned back to his plate, snorting into his food, not wanting Snape to see.  Unfortunately, he did.

"YOU FOOLISH BOY!" Snape bellowed, stomping towards Harry furiously.  "THREE HUNDERED POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!  _DETENTION_!"

"Uh-uh, Snape," Sirius said, looking at Snape with glittering eyes, subtly getting in-between Harry and Snape, just in case Snape went berserk.  "Term hasn't started, so you can't take points from Gryffindor or give him detention."

"You put him up to this, didn't you, Black?" Snape said, looking malicious.  His hands were clenched so tightly that although his skin should've been a deep red all over, his knuckles were white.

Sirius merely grinned at his former classmate.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling.  "Severus, please calm down.  I'm sure Poppy can perform a charm to return you to your normal state."  He fixed his gaze on Sirius.  "I don't want this coming from you again, Sirius.  Understood?"

"Okay," Sirius said agreeably.  "I'll just tell Harry what to do next time."  He gave Snape a particularly evil smirk.

Dumbledore didn't reply with words, but gestured for Snape to be seated once more.  With a final glare, Snape sat and started to eat once more.

As normalcy resided once again, Draco looked over towards Harry, whom he was sitting diagonally from.  "Potter."

Harry glanced up.  "What?"

"How'd you do that?"

Harry raised a dark eyebrow.  "I'm not telling you.  You're going to use it against me during the Prank War."

As Harry quietly turned back to his food, Draco fought down his frustration—was he _that_ easy to see through?  How had Potter known that?  _Then again, I _would_ do that, wouldn't I_?  _It's not like my long—time hatred of him isn't obvious_….

Throughout dinner, he noticed that Black would glance worriedly at his godson every few minutes.  Draco paused, observing the man discreetly.  He decided that Sirius Black didn't seem remotely like a murderer at all; what with that great sappy expression.

***

Harry left the group after finishing his food, quietly excusing himself.  He wished he had his Invisibility Cloak so no one could see him.  It was unnerving to have so many people watching you, giving him such a caged feeling he never had before.  Oh, no—Harry wasn't claustrophobic at all, with living in the tiny cupboard at Privet Drive for eleven years of his life, but this was the closest thing he'd ever felt to it.  Everything—everyone—was closing in on him from all sides, and he didn't know how he would take it when school started…all those students.

As he made his way to his new dorm, Harry's mind went back to what Malfoy had said.  '…_I'd believe you did kill Diggory_….'  He shuddered unconsciously.  Malfoy admitted him to be the murderer he was, and although he knew that Sirius cared, he was wrong.  Cedric would have been a happy young man, just starting his career and life.

No, Sirius was biased.  Blinded by how much he cared for Harry.  It touched him how much Sirius did love him, but still, he was simply wrong.  There was no denying it…if it hadn't been for him, Cedric would have still been alive and well.

He had reached the portrait without realizing it and when he looked up, it was into the smiling image of James Potter.  James, who had been sprawled out on the grass reading through a textbook of some sort, looked up and saw Harry watching him.

"Hey, kiddo," he said cheerfully, closing the book and sitting up.  "Your mother is having tea with the Fat Lady….  What're you so down about?"

Harry smiled vaguely, still not used to the portrait.  "Nothing to worry about."

James gave him a suspicious look, but didn't press for information.  "Where's that other boy?  Draco?"

"Still at dinner," Harry replied.  "I wanted to write a letter to my friends."

James smiled at him, and the portrait swung open.  Harry went up the spiral staircase, and upon entering the common room, walked swiftly past it to the hall leading to his room.  Walking in, he went to his desk, on which he had already laid out all of his belongings.  Taking out two fresh pieces of parchment, a ink bottle, and a quill, he sat and started to write.

_Hey Ron,_

_How are you and your family doing?  I'm at Hogwarts right now.  They wanted me here for extra protection, and it turns out that my old "muggle" baby-sitter Mrs, Figg is really at witch—Professor Dumbledore's sister, to boot.  Snuffles is here too; Dumbledore told the staff that he's innocent.  I just wanted to let you know that I'm here, so you wouldn't worry._

_-Harry_

He stopped for a moment, longing to tell Ron about everything that was going on, but remembered Dumbledore's warning.  If Ron or Hermione knew anything about the Order, they would be in danger.  He couldn't risk losing them, just to selfishly relieve his own tension.  The letter sounded oddly indifferent, and unfamiliar, but he shrugged it off.

He scribbled out a similar letter to Hermione, adding that he had finished his summer work and was going to start doing extra reading.  Putting the quill away, he started walking down the hallway, back into the common room.

"Where are you going?"

Harry spun towards the fire, and realized that Draco was slumped into the couch, staring blankly into the fire.  "Owlery."

"Writing to Weasel and the Mudblood, are we?" Draco asked.  His voice wasn't taunting though, just soft.

Harry frowned and sat beside him.  "I don't get it.  You're working for our side, but you still call Hermione 'Mudblood'."

Draco snorted, his eyes still fixed on the fire.  Harry could see the reflection of the flames flickering in Draco's silver eyes.  "It's what she is, a mudblood."

Harry fought to control his anger.  Pushing it to the back of his mind, he continued to try to get through to Draco.  "If you believe the people you're protecting are inferior, then why are you putting your life on the line to save them?"

Draco didn't answer for a long while, but Harry kept his eyes trained on the other boy, watching calmly for any emotion to sweep across his face.  Waiting to see what his answer was.

There was none.

Draco turned to face Harry.  "I don't know, Potter," he replied softly.  "I really don't."

Harry's face remained contemplative for an instant, then his face broke out into a small, private smile.  He stood up again and left.

Draco frowned when he heard the portrait door shut.  He squirmed, not feeling comfortable with how everything was going between him and Potter.  He hated him, yes, but that hatred had waned a bit.  He had thought that living with Potter would be hell, but quite the contrary, Harry seemed to understand that he wanted to be left alone.

He shifted his gaze back to the flames, his mind wandering back to what he had been thinking about before the interruption: his father.

Things had been very simple.  He, during a conversation, had told his father that he refused to become a Death Eater—that his hatred wasn't enough to provoke him into killing another being.  Lucius Malfoy had not taken to this news well, and in a silent fury, dismissed his son from his presence.  Draco left the manor, after performing a not-very-well-known and complicated illusion charm, with the help of a few house elves who were forbidden to divulge anything, that basically duplicated him.

He supposed that if he found his duplicate, then it would have the Dark Mark burned into his arm.

And that was the beauty of the charm—his duplicate was exactly like him, was there—something you could touch and smell.  Real.  But not real.

You see, Draco Malfoy liked having options.  There always had to be a back door of the house—a way to get out of something that he didn't want to do, a safe house of a sort.  Options, in this case, were extremely useful….

Draco smiled lazily.  He especially liked illusion charms—they messed with a person's head.  Their nerves.  If his father had touched his duplicate's arm, his nerves would have been stimulated by the illusion to trick his mind into believing that he was touching something.  It was a very useful thing to know, as well, but should be treated with caution.  If anyone of Voldemort's followers knew that there was also another Draco at Hogwarts, then he would be horribly murdered.  Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore were the only ones who knew about what he had done to escape.

Draco shuddered, closing his eyes, and wrapping his arms tightly around himself.  He liked the feel of the fire's heat against his skin, and soon enough, it lulled him to sleep.

***

Draco started when he heard a loud noise, and after looking around sharply, he realized he had fallen asleep in front of the fire.  He slumped back for a moment, his muscles relaxing.  Then he heard the sound again.

Standing, he tried to clear his cluttered and panicking mind.  Where was Harry?  His eyes widened, and without further contemplation, he sprinted to Harry's room.

Flicking his wand at the lamp he found Harry asleep in his bed.  He was shaking his head, back and forth, yelling incoherently, and had his hand on his scar.

***

_"Lucius…"_

_The Death Eater approached Voldemort, kneeling to kiss the hem of his robes.  "Yes, my Lord?"_

_"The Potter boy…where is he?"_

_"Last reported, he recently arrived at Hogwarts, but we do not have any sources there as of yet that know."_

_"What of Severus Snape, Lucius?"_

_"He says, my Lord," Lucius said, his mouth curling with disdain, "that the boy is in Hogwarts, under the protection of Dumbledore.  However, I do not fully trust Severus Snape's word, as of yet."_

_"I anticipate that Dumbledore will have called upon the Order."_

_"My Lord, whom may I ask is in the Order?"_

_"That is the question, indeed…" Voldemort said darkly, his glowing red eyes fixated on the wand in his hand.  He twirled it a few times in between his fingers, watching the green and silver sparks rush out at his face every few moments.  When they touched his skin, he didn't seem to realize it.  He stopped.  "Draco Malfoy!"_

_Draco stepped forward this time, bending to his knees and kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes, just as his father had.  Standing again, he asked, "My Lord?"_

_"When the new term begins," Voldemort said, "you will find out all you can about the Order.  Go to Dumbledore and plead your innocence, ask for sanctuary, if you must—see if you can join the Order as well.  Find the name of every Phoenix and give their names to me!"_

_"Yes, my Lord," Draco said, bowing his head.  He stepped back into the circle of Death Eaters._

_Voldemort resumed twirling his wand.  "When the time comes—when Hogwarts is weakened, I shall take it into my own hands.  The students will join me.  I will destroy the Potter boy."_

_"My Lord," a voice peeped.  It was Wormtail.  "I-is Hogwarts not where the muggle-loving fool Dumbledore resides?  The protection charms around the castle, my Lord!"_

_Voldemort froze and turned his gaze on the cowering man, piercing him.  The Death Eaters were holding their breaths, knowing what was about to come, and were determined to keep their gazes fixed on their lord._

_"You believe that the old, senile, muggle-loving fool can stop me?" Voldemort hissed in mock curiosity, sounding even more snake-like than he did before.  He lazily lifted his wand at Wormtail, a glint of pleasure flickering in his eyes.  "Crucio!"_

***

"…er…Potter…Potter!"

Harry snapped awake, sitting straight up, breathing hard, the scar on his forehead throbbing with pain.  He wriggled in the dark, and pushed at the person holding his shoulders.

"Calm down, Potter!"

Harry stopped, realizing it was only Draco.

Suddenly, the reality of the dream hit him.  The room seemed to become a lot warmer.

Swinging wildly, blindly, his mind consumed by the outrage he felt, he threw a punch at the other boy, hitting him, amazingly, square on the jaw.  "_You_—you—_traitor_!"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, Potter?!"  Draco reeled backwards and with a hand on his jaw (rubbing to make sure that it wasn't broken and trying to get some feeling back into it).

Harry leaped to his feet, trembling with his rage.  He hadn't felt this way—this way—since his third year in the Shrieking Shack when he thought Sirius had betrayed his parents.  His eyes were narrowed, jaw taut, hands in tight fists, and his voice shaky.  "_You_ _traitor_!"

"What are you _talking _about?" Draco yelled.  "I'm not a traitor!"

"Don't you dare lie to me," Harry said, his voice going cold and icy—the room temperature dropped.  "Don't you _dare_ lie to me."

"I have _no_ idea what you're talking about," Draco said loudly, annoyed and bewildered, his anger beginning to rise at the offensive accusation.  "And I am _not_ a traitor."

Harry stared at him inscrutably.  This had happened before—it felt vaguely like déjà vu—when Sirius was in the Shrieking Shack, trying to tell him that he was innocent.  He had taken a lot of convincing, but Harry _knew_—he _felt_ it—he was telling the truth.  All he had to do was push his anger away…agree to hear the argument…he felt his breathing slow, calming, and grabbing his wand without turning his back on Draco, he flicked the light on and then pointed his wand at Draco.  "Move."

Draco looked at Harry, exasperated, but decided that angering him further was _not_ a smart idea, especially when he didn't have his wand.

Going down the corridor, Draco sat on one chair by the fire, and Harry sat on the opposite, his wand still firmly pointed at Draco.  Draco was somewhat relieved to notice that Harry seemed much calmer.  "What have you been rambling about?"

Harry stared at Draco, as if he didn't know.  He reminded himself to calm down, and although he kept his wand trained on Draco—his dream was quite convincing—he breathed slowly.  "Let me see your arm."

Draco raised an eyebrow but did as asked.  Lifting the sleeve of his right arm, he showed the inside of his arm to Harry, tilting it towards the fire so that he could see it clearly.

Harry stared at the inside of Draco's arm, and after a few moments cleared his throat.  He lowered his wand, and as if they shared the same thought, both leaned back into their chairs to reveal the details that brought the situation into fruition.

***

"I have dreams," Harry began, somewhat slowly, wondering how to exactly word it.  "Because of my scar.  It works like a link to Voldemort—through it, I have a part of Voldemort in _me_.  It hurts when he's near, or when he has a strong feeling directed towards me.  But at night, when I fall asleep, I can…sort of see through Voldemort's eyes…well, I'm _there_, where he is, in my own form, but I can see what he's seeing in the room.  It's as if I'm really there."

Draco didn't know what to say to that, but he didn't have to, since Harry continued.

"This dream," Harry said, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly, "your father was there.  They're pretty sure I'm here.  They don't trust Snape."  He paused, his gaze sharpening.  "You were there."

Draco blinked.  Cautiously, he asked, "What did I do?"

"You were a Death Eater.  You agreed to spy on Dumbledore and the Order."

"I'm not."

Harry's eyes narrowed.  "Then who was it that I saw groveling to Voldemort, agreeing to what he was told to do?"

"Me."  Draco looked especially calm and casual now, and there was a smirk tugging at his lips.

Harry stared at him a few moments, then seemed to shake himself out of the shock, lifting his wand back up again.  "You're mental."

"No.  I'm cunning."  Draco allowed himself a small grin, as he watched a fury of emotion pass on Harry's face.  Loudly, so as to get Harry's attention, he said, "I'll explain if you give me the chance."

Harry looked up at Draco—right into his cold, gray, eyes.  Draco couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he kept his eyes trained on the emerald green of Harry's eyes.  He would show that he was steadfast, unblinking…he would prove that he was _not_ one of _his_.

"Make this quick, Malfoy," Harry snapped, leaning back and once again lowering his wand.

"Fine," Draco said.  "You see, I used an illusion charm.  I really do exist for the people who believe it to be me—real, live, breathing, talking.  But if they know it's just an illusion, the illusion becomes totally unresponsive to them…they can't see it.  The only one that can see it while knowing it's an illusion is the person who cast the charm…me."

Harry stared.  "And this illusion…it can think for itself?"

Draco nodded.  "Yes, but by the same token, it does what people expect to see it doing…to a certain extent.  If I _was_ a Death Eater, then they'd see me doing the things I would do as a Death Eater, such as bow to _him_ and do as _he_ says.  They would see me retort to Crabbe or Goyle, because that's what I would do…not exactly what they see me doing.  It's more like the illusion does everything the exact same way I would if I were in that situation."

Harry snorted softly.  "And you told Dumbledore?"

"Yes.  Dumbledore and Snape."

Harry stared hard at Draco, seeming to ponder something of the sort.  Then, Harry dropped his gaze and sighed, placing his wand back in the pockets of his pajamas.  "Well…sorry I doubted you."

Draco blinked.  Was Potter actually…_apologizing_ to him?  Draco gaped a few more seconds, and drawled, "Oh…it's all right, I suppose it's good you know."

Harry looked up and grinned.  "You know, you're actually okay sometimes…when you're not being a stuck-up prat."

Draco raised an eyebrow.  "Well, I haven't seen anything from you to change my mind.  You're still an insufferable, righteous, and goody-goody Gryffindor."

Harry shrugged.  "I've never been a goody-goody, Malfoy."

Draco glared maliciously.  "Right, and _I_ have a glass eye _just_ like Moody.  I'm going to beat the bloody stuffing out of you during the Prank War."

Harry grinned.  Draco felt like slapping him—why wouldn't he get offended or anything?  "Likewise."

They sat in silence a few minutes, watching the flames in the fire rise and fall.

Draco sighed.  "Well, I want to get some sleep.  Tell Dumbledore about your dream in the morning."

"All right," Harry replied softly, as they both stood and crossed to the opposite sides of the common room.  "'Night."

Draco didn't reply as he walked down the hall to his own room, but glanced as Harry yawned and turned back to go to his own room.  Continuing, he shook his head.  What a stupid, stupid person, Harry Potter was.  Too trusting, way too trusting.  Way too forgiving.  Too naïve.

He didn't want Potter's kindness…or his friendship, for that matter.  How could Harry _trust_ him enough to tell him about his dreams?  If Draco were really on Voldemort's side, Harry would have a door opened to so many more ways of being tortured….

_Oh, well_, Draco thought as he changed his clothes and slipped in the covers of his own bed, _it's not my problem.  At least I'm not like him.  He's going to get himself killed one day, and I'll be the first to laugh_.

Somehow, though, he thought that might change.

 And he felt like slapping himself for it.

**dreams**

**end**

****

**A/N:** Argh! Twelve more pages typed and I _still_ haven't gotten to Harry's birthday!  Oh well…this is going to be a very long fic….

Okay, well, it's Harry's birthday next…hehe, what has Sirius got in store for him?  (Don't worry, I don't know yet either…)

Oh!  I'm going to need help with the Prank War ideas!  I've got a couple, but so far it's odd.  Very odd, but kinda funny—ooh, just came up with another one…  You may say that you didn't like the Prank War idea, but it's a very essential part of what's going to happen…*insert evil laughter*

As always, please review, and tell me whether you want to be on the mailing list (leave your address!)!  And I've started a new fic called "Catch Me" so please read and review that too!

~ Jedi Cosmos ~

Thank You's (From Chapters 6 & 7):

Luthien – I agree that slash wouldn't work here.  Hehe, I like imaging James and Sirius and Remus and Lily like that ^-^

Holli – Hehe, hope you liked this chapter too ^.~

Seren – I had fun with the color war ^-^ The Prank War will be even BETTER!  *insert evil laughter*

Jessica Black

Seadach

Lin-z

Katrina Skyfrost – well, if you like Ron and Herm left in the dark, you'll probably like this…^^()

starkitty – I wish!

Gemini

Gia

Super Saya-jin Gotan – I prefer detail over little detail.  Actions coming your way—the prank war will deal with that ^^()

Christy – It wasn't sad!

Chaos Kid

Ayla Pascal – they're longer…I'm dying here, but they're longer…….

Lonely Dove – thank you!

Laura Potter

SEEKER_2000

Maddy

Starlight

vmr

Scarlet Phoenix

Unknown_Dude4

Lishel Fracrium

Gia

Ruka-chan

Unknown_Dude4 – He'll eventually tell…

Lil Phenix

Katrina Skyfrost

Star4ever – hehe ^^() I do that a lot with other fics…

Unknown_Dude4 – thank you for the three reviews! ^^()

Jessica Black

Lishel Fracrium

SEEKER_2000 – thank you very much! ^^()

Red_Rosettes –you're right bout the Order being more seclusive—I think this chapter touched up a bit more on the nature of the membership…

Krazy Kris – I like the little rant too, hehe ^-^ by the way, I loved the new chapter of Concealed!

Lishel Fracrium – thank you for the three reviews as well! ^-^

Mistwalker – thanks; I wasn't very sure about my insert characters at all, that's why I try to avoid making them…

Puddles – I'm glad you have fun reading!

Rosie – updates are about once a month…

Joel – lol, yeah, they can be the Alley Gang now or something ^.~

Ladyeclectic – thank you for the compliments ^-^ I'm glad you enjoy the characters and such!

bill weasly

Sleepy Soul – thank you very much!

jona – thank you!  Hehe I get hyper a lot too ^^()

Juliana Black – here ya go…thanks for reviewing "Catch Me" so quickly!

Again, thanks everyone!  I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  If you're not already on my e-mail list and would like to receive notification when I post a new chapter, either leave your e-mail address in a review or e-mail me at sailorstarcosmos@yahoo.com!  Please read chapter 1 of "Catch Me"!  Thanks!


	10. monday july 31st

**Author's Note****:** It took me a while to write this chapter…I think Sirius is a bit OOC here, but I tried…tell me what you think!

This chapter especially goes out to **Unknown_Dude4**, **Smile7499**, **Luthien**, and **Bon**.  Unknown_Dude4 and Smile7499 for e-mailing me and asking for the promised posts, and for Luthien and Bon for reviewing from the very first chapter.  Thanks everyone!****

**monday**

**july 31st******

Draco felt something press against his arm in a very specific spot.  It hurt for a moment, then relented.  The thing that was pressing against his arm pulled back, and pressed his arm again…and again, and again…and again.

Draco willed his eyelids open, and when his blurry vision cleared, he found the face of Sirius Black staring at him.  He immediately sat up, from slight shock.  "What is it?" he snapped at Sirius.  He had been feeling very cozy in his large bed and hated the idea of having to get up.

Sirius grinned at Draco.  "It's Harry's birthday."

"And why should I give a damn?" Draco retorted.  He stood to leave to his room, but Sirius grabbed his arm.

"He's turning fifteen."

"So?"

"Oh, come on," Sirius said with a roll of his eyes.  "You're going to _have_ to be friends."

"No," Draco corrected harshly.  "Allies, maybe, acquaintances—but I will _never_ call Potter my _friend_."

"Why?"

Draco snapped his head up at Black, searching his face for any sign of mockery.  Instead, he could only see genuine curiosity.  He scowled.  "Because, he's stuck up, thinks he's better than everyone, and he's a Gryffindor."  He laughed in disbelief and shook his head.  "I don't know why I'm even talking about it."

Black's expression went from curious to evil in a split second after he finished.  "Well, now, Drakie-boy, no matter how utterly wrong you are about my godson, you're going to help me anyway."

"'Drakie'?" Draco sputtered.  "Don't call me that!"

Sirius raised an eyebrow at the boy.

"No," Draco grunted.

"You know," Sirius said, plopping himself down at Draco's desk.  "I _could_ always go tell Moody that I want to take over his lessons for a while."  His eyes glinted dangerously.  "I can make them a hell of a lot worse.  For you."

Draco looked up, his eyes narrowed tiredly.  _Now_ he could see why so many people thought that Black was a murderer.  But it was too early for Draco to come up with a proper rant.  "You…erg."

Sirius stood and clapped his hands merrily.  "I knew you'd see things my way!"  He cackled, innately reminding Draco of You-Know-Who.  "Get dressed, I'll be waiting by the portrait."

Draco glared at Sirius' retreating back and rolling his eyes in an exasperated fashion, he turned towards his bathroom to take a shower and get dressed.  He shot one last longing look at his warm bed.

Black owed him big time.

***

Harry blinked sleepily, looking around his room.  Since his watch had been broken during the Second Task, he had found one of Dudley's old plastic watches that came out of a cereal box to use.  It was so cheap a watch that it didn't even work half the time, and Harry didn't even bother checking whether it worked at Hogwarts.

Knowing that it was around nine in the morning or so, he felt it was a good time to get up.  He had finished his essay for Moody the night before, having had gone to the library after sending Hedwig off with his letters to Ron and Hermione.

He sat up slowly, stretching his arms in front of him, he reached over to the goblet on his nightstand to take a long drink, relaxing when the cool water ran down his dry throat.

Placing the goblet back on the nightstand, he furrowed his eyebrows at the aftertaste of the water.  It tasted different from water, come to think of it.  Familiar….

He could barely blink when he realized that it was a sleeping potion, and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

***

"Oh, _honestly_," Minerva McGonagall clucked in disapproval, "Sirius Black!  How long will he be asleep?"

Minerva had trouble getting angry with Sirius Black now—she felt that as the man had so little good things in his life until his quite recent escape from Azkaban that she shouldn't prevent him from having his fun.  But still!

"I don't know _where_ you get your ideas," she went on, pointing at him with her wand and shaking it at him as she would her finger, had she not been holding her wand.  "A sleeping draught, no less!  That could have him asleep the whole day!"

"But—"

"Oh, I know, I know, you want to make this nice and fun for him, do you?  Heaven knows that he needs a break of some sort—the poor boy—but sleeping draughts can be very dangerous!"

"It's all right, I got help," Sirius said, pointing at Draco.  "I never could get a potion right—I never had the patience to stir and wait before adding something—and since the library is closed until Madam Pince returns, well, I didn't really know the ingredients till Draco here pitched in…."

Minerva glanced at the pale, white-blond boy standing beside Sirius with a delighted smirk on his face—why?  _Oh, right.  Who wouldn't love to see a full-grown man being admonished by their old Transfiguration teacher_?

Minerva turned back to Sirius and fixed her stern gaze.  "Oh, I don't know _why_ I bother," she snapped, not being able to sound severe.  "What do you plan on doing?"

"Stuff," Sirius replied off-hand.

Her frown deepened.  "What exactly, may I ask, do you mean by '_stuff,'_ Mr. Black?"

Sirius shrugged and looked at the older woman with an innocent and shiny-eyed expression.  It was amazing what big a difference those eyes made…Azkaban's look had not worn off, but it was fading.  "Stuff," he repeated, with a hopeful smile.

She pointed her wand at him.

Draco's smile was in full bloom now.  Sirius looked disappointed.  That expression quickly became sheepish.  "Well, I baked him a cake!"

Minerva's face twisted into a disgusted grimace.

"I'm not that bad," Sirius said crossly.

"Yes, you are," Draco interjected with a derisive snort.  "I should know—I stole a taste of the icing."

"I'm not that bad," Sirius repeated stubbornly.  He didn't look like he believed himself, though.

The look on his former teachers' face told otherwise.  "Sirius Orion Black," Minerva said, using his full name for measure, "what do you plan on doing?"

Sirius' bright expression dimmed.  His eyes darkened, and he looked as if he were worlds away.  "I wanted to take him to Godric's Hollow."

Minerva was so shocked that she blinked and nearly dropped her wand.  "W-whatever for?"

"So he can see where his parents lived…how they used to be," Sirius replied.  "He has the right, you know…."  Suddenly stopping, Sirius turned to Draco.  "You can go on ahead, get some food from the kitchens."

Draco grunted, wishing he knew how to become invisible so he could hear the rest of the conversation.  He had heard of Godric's Hollow, the place where Voldemort had been defeated.  It would have been interesting to go and see that place.  He decided he was in dire need of a glass of water to get rid of the horrible aftertaste that the cake icing had left in his mouth, and that he wouldn't want to go with Potter and Black anyway.

Minerva and Sirius watched as Draco walked off, hands in his robe pockets.  A few moments later, Minerva turned back to Sirius.  "I do not advise you to take him there," she said quietly.  "It will distract and upset him.  He's had enough."

Sirius shook his head, slightly.  "During the duel, Minerva…he told you?"

Minerva didn't understand for a moment, but being very bright, caught on very quickly.  Of course Dumbledore had told her what had happened to Harry last year…she was his second in command.  "Yes, of course…."

"He saw Lily and James, Minerva," Sirius said quietly, almost pleadingly.  He turned back to face her, and his eyes were almost willing her to understand why he came to that decision.  "I know it's been troubling him, it has to be—for his portrait, he chose Lily and James, and he needs his parents more than anything right now, and…."

He trailed off, looking around, as if it would help him describe how he felt.  "It hurts.  It hurts not to have them here, it hurts to see them but not be able to be with them, it hurts that I can't be there for him.  And he's dwelling on it.  I will never, ever forget Lily or James…but I feel I need to put their deaths behind me, so I can concentrate on protecting and being a good godfather to Harry.  I'll never let go of my memories of them, I'll never _not_ think about them every day, but I need to let go of the pain those memories bring.  I'd like to be able to remember them without hurting."

Sirius took a deep, trembling breath.  "I _need_ to remember them without hurting, Minerva, or else I'll go mad.  I'll go insane.  It's like having my own, special Cruciatus Curse, my own Dementor, just for me, constantly there.  I've always believed…I _still_ believe I deserve this pain…but Harry's still here, and he doesn't have a family left, he never really had anyone left.  I need to be here for him, even if we never become close, even if he doesn't like me, because he's all I have left, too.  He's all I've had left since Lily and James died, and if something ever happened to him, if he ever died, I'd die along with him."

Minerva felt her eyes tearing, but quickly blinked them back.  Sirius Black was a thousand times braver and stronger than anyone had ever given him credit for, and she had just realized it.  She couldn't begin to imagine what he had gone through, what he still had to face in his future….  Lily and James' death had hurt her as well—both bright and sweet (James, although, quite the troublemaker), she had taken quite a liking to them throughout their seven years at Hogwarts.  It had hit her hard, but she knew it had hit Sirius much, _much_ harder, of course, being as he was their best friend.

"I understand," she said quietly.  "I apologize for intruding on your privacy about it."

Sirius, for the first time since Draco left, looked her in the eye.  "No, thank you.  I needed someone to talk to about it…."  He turned away, leaning on the stone wall.  "Am I making a wrong choice, here?  Would—"

"Oh, Sirius," Minerva interrupted softly, knowing what he was going to ask, "if Lily and James knew what you had been through over their deaths, they would have given anything for you to be free of it."  Sirius turned around quickly, looking into her face, eyes searching for whether or not she was telling the truth.  She looked back at him firmly.  "In all honesty, Sirius, they were fine people.  You could never find anyone as good as they.  But they're gone, and they would never have wanted for us to be upset."

She smiled gently.  "Go to Godric's Hollow with Harry.  Tell him what you've told me, and tell him what I've told you.  Put this behind and face the future, Sirius…there's a lot coming, and you both must be ready to face it.  Together."

***

Harry stirred in his bed, and Sirius looked up at the boy from his seat at the desk.  He was eager for Harry to wake, but was hesitant to help wake him.  He stood and walked around the bed to watch Harry.

It was one of the few times that Sirius had ever seen Harry so quiet and peaceful.  Long ago, Harry had been a sweet, small baby boy, was the last time he could remember, actually.  He never cried for anything, but waited patiently for Lily or James to come and carry him.  He had loved being held, and Sirius could just remember holding baby Harry as the small infant snuggled into the crook of his arm and slept softly.

The baby Harry had always had an aura of innocence and tranquility about him, and Sirius had sadly noted how that had changed over the years.  When he first met Harry at the age of thirteen, the boy carried an angry, passionate air around him.  At the age of fourteen, he carried a quiet, sad atmosphere.  At fifteen, now, he became so much more complex.  He had become a handsome and an oddly mature boy.  He was silent, yet demanding, confident but insecure, a jumble of contradictions rolled together into one person.

"Sirius?"

Sirius blinked to find Harry's sleepy green eyes staring up at him, curious and questioning.  He managed a grin.  "G' morning."

Harry yawned.  "So.  Who switched the water with the sleeping potion?  You, or Malfoy?"

"Both."

"Okay.  So.  What was the point?"

"You'll see," Sirius said after a moment, quite unsure of how to describe his "cake" to Harry.  It was a cake…but it didn't taste anything like one, Sirius had to admit.  Sirius stood.  "It's four o'clock, so get dressed.  I have some stuff planned for today."

"Four o'clock?" Harry grumbled.  He yawned again, and when noticing Sirius' gaze, he grinned.  "You know, I just realized that we've never had a conversation about—well—normal stuff until…well, actually, we still haven't had a conversation about normal stuff.  Oh well—conversations about stuff that's semi-normal for me."

Sirius grinned back at his godson.  _That will change_, he swore to himself fervently.  He was determined to be a good godfather to Harry.  He would keep his promise to James—not only for the memory of his best friend, but for himself, and his godson.

"Well, come quickly," Sirius said lightly, heading to the common room.  He had to admit, Draco had executed the decoration of the rooms quite well—nothing he or James ever did was quite as elegant as this.

He waited until Harry came in, his hair wet and mussed up from a quick shower, and his face bright.

"Let's go get you some breakfast, and I can tell you what we're going to be doing then."

Harry nodded agreeably, falling in step after Sirius as they crossed the short hall and went down the spiral staircase.  As they made their way out of the tower, Sirius noticed Harry glancing at the portrait, and the barely masked disappointment flashing in his overcast green eyes when he realized it was empty.

Sirius sighed softly, and was reaching over to sling an arm around his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him, but stopped himself and dropped his arm just in time.  Sirius really didn't know how Harry would react to the physical contact.

They walked to the kitchens in silence, both not quite sure what to say to each other.  All they had ever spoken to each other about was problems they were facing that put their lives in danger.

As they reached the kitchens, Sirius asked, "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Lunch," Harry corrected with a lopsided grin.  "I don't really care.  Aren't you eating?"

"No, I've already—"

"Good afternoon, Harry Potter, sir!"  Dobby had come running at the sight of Harry's unruly black hair.

"Hey, Dobby," Harry said warmly.  "D'you think you could get me something to eat?  Not too much, though—" he added hastily, as dozens of house elves came rushing at them with platters of steaming foods.

When they finally sat at a table in the kitchens with a plate of sausages and toast in front of Harry, Sirius began to speak.

"Well," he started, "first of all, I'd like to wish you a happy fifteenth birthday."

Harry blinked and stopped chewing for a moment, as if he'd completely forgotten, but then graced Sirius with a brilliant smile.  "Thank you."

Sirius smiled back.  Just as Harry swallowed the last bite of toast, he added carefully, "I'm going to take you someplace today."  He watched as Harry perked in curiosity.  "It may upset you—it probably will—but I feel that we really need to go to this place together and talk about a few things.  All right, Harry?"

Harry's curious gaze had changed while he'd been talking, becoming more serious and gauging.  "All right, Sirius."

Sirius smiled widely, and felt something in him glow a bit.  It took a lot of trust for someone in Harry's position to agree to go someplace without questioning.  Actually, Sirius felt as though he should scold the boy, tell him that he shouldn't be so trusting of people because of the danger that would bring him, but couldn't bring himself to do so.  He felt incredibly reassured that Harry trusted him to that extent.

"Come on, then," Sirius said.  "We're going to go past the Hogwarts Apparation wards and I'll Apparate us there."

***

"Where…?"

The question died on Harry's lips, as his inquisitive stare took in his surroundings.

They were in a yard, with a gray-stone, waist-height walls that were covered in ivy, sprouting beautiful and bright plants.  There was a small, but cozy cottage in the distance, also made out of gray and off-white stones.  A flowerbed was situated around the home, as if it were a moat of some sort.  Steps led from a door in the back of the house to a small patio that had scattered white, metal chairs on it.  It seemed familiar, but Harry wasn't sure from when or where or how, but it was.

Harry noticed Sirius swallow, as if he was nervous or extremely upset, and Sirius placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder.  Sirius met Harry's eyes, and with a squeeze, led him closer to the house.

Harry glanced at the flowerbed, noticing that the most prominent type of flower were soft pink and lavender lilies.  Climbing the steps to the patio, Harry noticed the rings of ivy wrapped about the home and patio.  It gave the home a bit of a fantastical appearance, as if it had been pulled out of a child's fairy tale book.

A hoarse voice broke through the silence.  "Do you remember, Harry?"

Sirius' hand shook ever so slightly, causing Harry to look up in alarm.  "Sirius?"

"Do you remember?" he repeated, a bit more forcefully, as if he demanded to know the answer.

Harry breathed in very slowly.  "It…it _seems_ familiar, but…."

Sirius didn't move for a few moments, making no action whatsoever; even his breathing stood still.  With a pull closer, Sirius started leading Harry towards the back entrance.

Pushing the door open as if he expected a monster to jump right back at him, Sirius inhaled the floral-scented air of the home.  As he stood and took in a few breaths, the smell began to comfort him, as it always had before….

Sirius took Harry's arm this time, shutting the door behind him and pulling Harry along the kitchen.  He led him to the living room, the study; showed him the master bedroom, the three guest bedrooms, the basement, all in complete silence.  But there was one door left that Harry had noticed Sirius avoid.

"What's in there?" he asked softly.

Sirius looked at Harry, his face blank and unreadable, and he released his hold on Harry.  Jerking his head toward that particular door, Sirius motioned silently for Harry to go on in without him.  This surprised and confused Harry…there was something very important about this home, he thought as he gently pushed the door open…why else would Sirius bring him here, why else would he be so upset —

There was a crib in the far corner of the room…Harry stopped, and stared at it, not completely sure of anything anymore.  He approached the crib slowly, and once he reached it, he reached out to touch the light blue blanket that covered it….

Letting go, he looked at the wood of the crib…there were scorch marks on some parts.  _This was my crib_, Harry thought, the very idea of it hitting him like a sledgehammer to the head.  _This was my crib_.

His hand trembling slightly now, he lifted the blue blanket up and brought it in front of his face, fingering the soft cloth in a complex mixture of shock and unreality.  He noticed a sweet, refined scent from the blanket, and tilting it towards the light shining in through the window, his sharp eyes caught a flash of something shining.

Slowly, he inched towards the window, trying to make the light reflect off whatever it had again.  He caught the flash this time, and picked at the place on the blanket where it had been.  He pulled up a long, red strand of hair.

He stared at it, the strand, not noticing the fact that his fist was trembling and that his knuckles were turning white.  _Mum_….

He looked around the room, suddenly and furiously, tying everything together.  _This was my room. This was my mum's hair_!  He looked back outside the window at the stone fence.  _T-this is Godric's Hollow_!

He stood in a daze, rocking back and forth on his feet as if trying to calm himself, holding his mother's strand of hair in an almost revering way.  _Sirius_, he thought suddenly, his heart wrenching.  He couldn't imagine what the older man was going through.

Setting the blanket back down and placing the hair on top of it, he crossed his arms over his chest, _pushed_ his shock and grief away, and stepped out of the room, closing the door gently shut behind him.

***

He found Sirius in the kitchen, sitting at the humble, round table, staring out the window into the backyard.  Sirius jerked around when he heard Harry coming, and turned fully to the table, gesturing for Harry to sit across him.

Harry did so, and they both found themselves at a loss for words.  So, for quite a while, they stared at each other, not really knowing what to say to make the other feel better.

"Harry," Sirius started.  "I'm sorry about this.  I'm not so sure that I should have brought you here anymore."

Harry quickly and adamantly shook his head in the negative.  "I…I'm glad you did, Sirius," he replied softly, glancing around the kitchen.  "More than once, I wondered what it was like before that night…."

Instead of Harry's intention of making Sirius feel better, the exact opposite thing happened—Sirius' face fell.  "I'm also sorry that I wasn't here for you afterwards, Harry.  I'm sorry for a lot of things."

"Don't be," Harry replied sadly.  "It's nothing, really."

Sirius looked up at Harry, the tip of the mouth perking upwards even as his eyes got bright.  "It's nothing?"  He snorted softly.

Harry merely nodded.  He wouldn't claim his life was awful when he knew what Sirius had been through, what Remus had been through, even what he saw homeless muggle children go through.  He did hate the Dursleys, and he didn't appreciate them, and he felt terrible when he was with them—but that didn't mean others hadn't gone through worse.  _I should be happy that I've lived this long_, he thought.  _Cedric_.  What right did he have to claim his life was horrible?

Sirius snorted again.  Then his face mellowed, and he sighed.  "I used to come here everyday, and James and I would sit around and try to get you to learn something new.  Probably around when you were eight months or so," he cocked his head to the side thoughtfully.  "James once held you while flying on his broom, pretty high up.  You had loved it, but Lily found out and threatened to kill James if he ever did that again."

Harry smiled.  "So, what happened?"

Sirius laughed.  "James took you flying again and Lily yelled herself hoarse before performing the Body-Bind Curse on James and leaving him there for a day."  He laughed again, and as his laughter at the fond memory faded, he continued.

"So James and I would continue flying around without you, and you would stay on the ground and watch us intently.  Every time we brought the brooms out, you would always crawl towards us and say 'b'oom' and try to grab onto the handle.  It was extremely tempting, but we decided not to face Lily's wrath again.  After a few weeks of this, you got so upset that you would get all quiet and teary when anyone said 'broom'.  Lily finally let James take you with him, but only as long as if he were five feet above the ground."

"That's not very high," Harry said in mild indignation.

"Of course not," Sirius said with a wave of his hand.  "That was the point.  So everyday, James would take you about a foot higher and so on…Lily knew, though.  She saw how much you liked it, and even though she watched like a hawk every time, she would let James take you afterwards."

Harry smiled through the tears he felt pricking at his eyes.  _No.  I won't cry.  For Sirius._  The tears were banished from his eyes, but Harry could still feel them prickling.  "You said you wanted to talk about a few things earlier."

Sirius looked as if he were having an internal struggle before nodding.  He relaxed a bit, putting his elbows on the table and putting his head on his folded hands.  His voice started low, and guttural, and his eyes seemed to unfocus.  "Lily and James meant the world to me, Harry.  Everything.  I had no family left at that point—all of them died while I was at Hogwarts.  James was there for me, each and every single time I was upset or depressed.  He could read me like an open book."  Sirius smiled weakly.  "He told me, after my family died, that he would be my new family.  Him, and Lily, and Remus, and Peter.

"That meant the world to me.  They were all I had left.  Later, when you were born, surprisingly enough, Lily agreed with James on the matter of my being your godfather.  I was surprised that she'd agreed—after all, I was quite irresponsible.  I was holding you once—you were asleep—and I asked her why she did.  She told me it was because I was family, and I've never forgotten that moment, not even in Azkaban.  It was a good memory, then, Harry, but it stayed with me because it made me feel so guilty…all in one night, I had let my whole family down.

"I loved your parents more than anything in the world, Harry."  Sirius' eyes were bright now, looking at Harry imploringly.  "They were like the brother and sister I never had.  When they died, it was like losing my identity.  I didn't know who I was without them.  I didn't know where I was without them.  I didn't know why, without them.  It just tore something in me.

"At that point, I wasn't trusting Remus very much.  Not because he was a werewolf, mind, but because he was always off somewhere, doing something he couldn't speak of.  Pettigrew," the name came out like a curse, "was always in sight.  He was always around us, so I made the mistake of trusting him."

Sirius paused, then continued.  "I realized that I hadn't lost everything…there was still the matter of the baby boy I cared for so much.  I still had you.  I would raise you as I would my own, teach you, help you become a strong and good wizard."  Sirius gave a twisted smile.  "It didn't turn out the way I had hoped.  I was sent to Azkaban, and even though I begged to keep you, they wouldn't let me near you, put charms everywhere so that I could never reach you….  I gave in, then.  I had lost my family in a single day; Lily and James dead, Peter a traitor, Remus thinking I was the murderer, and…you."

Sirius took a longer pause this time, and Harry gave him his space by staying silent and waiting.  "I was locked in my misery until twelve years later…Fudge had come for an inspection, and I heard him speaking to a few other ministry members, when they reached my chamber.  He had said that it was lucky that I hadn't reached you before Dumbledore, or else you wouldn't have been living with your muggle relatives in a nice environment.

"That just lit something in me…you were alive, you were getting taken care of.  It mended some of the cuts, Harry, knowing that you were safe.  But then I remembered the…_people_…you were staying with…that the Dursleys were probably not treating you well.  It made me want to be able to look after you even more than before.  I felt so guilty—_still_ feel guilty—that you don't have parents; all because of my decision.  But the fact that it was Peter's betrayal was the only thing that kept me from breaking down.  I eventually escaped…and you know that story."

Harry's jaw worked, but he couldn't say anything.  He could feel his eyes getting painfully prickly, and blinked a few times.  He couldn't remember ever crying.  He wasn't crying now, but his eyes were prickly.  "It wasn't your fault, Sirius," he said softly, almost whispering.

Sirius's lip falteringly quirked upwards.  "Yeah.  Everyone's been telling me."

They sat there a little while, both in silence.  Harry not know what to say to make Sirius feel better, and Sirius, in turn, not know what to say to Harry.

Harry's mind processed the new information that he had been given.  He just didn't get it.  There was one thing in all of this, there was _one_ thing that no one had answered; the _one_ thing that would make everything fall in place.  He wanted to put this into words, try to convey this emotion that something important was missing from him, but couldn't find the words to do so.  Finally, he asked, "Why…?"

Sirius looked up at Harry, his stoic façade back in place, raising an eyebrow at his godson.  "Why what?"

"Why did Voldemort come after me?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes.  He opened his mouth to speak, then snapped his jaw shut.  Then he closed his eyes, tilted his head, and with one hand massaged the bridge of his nose.  "Harry…look, I can't tell you these things.  It's up to Dumbledore."

Harry looked pleadingly up at Sirius, who had stood.  "Please, tell me, Sirius."

Sirius adamantly shook his head.  "You'll have to wait for Dumbledore to tell you that."

Harry pushed himself to stand up.  "I've waited for almost five years now.  None of you ever tell me things about the past, and Ron and Hermione and I end up having to find out ourselves."

"Harry," Sirius said, keeping his voice low but calm, "I can tell you other things that you'd like to know—what's going on, and things like that.  But I _really_ can't tell you about _why_ Voldemort came after you."

"I'm getting sick of waiting!" Harry exclaimed suddenly, for the first time ever, raising his voice at Sirius—or, for that matter, any adult that he respected from the wizarding world.  "You tell me what's going on, but you don't tell me how I can help.  You tell me what to do, but you don't give me the whole explanation as to why.  Voldemort's been after me since I came into the magical world, constantly trying to kill me.  Last year, my friend _died_ because of Voldemort—because Voldemort wanted to get at _me_—and I want to know WHY!"

Sirius stood in silence, staring at his godson.  Harry breathed in and out, letting go of his sudden rage, and starting to feel upset that he had yelled at Sirius like that.  He looked up at Sirius, expecting to see anger in his eyes, but strangely, finding that Sirius had no expression on his face at all.

Waiting in silence for a few moments, Harry stammered, "S-Sirius…I'm sorry—"

Sirius sighed and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.  "Don't be.  I understand what you're saying Harry, and believe me, Dumbledore knows what he's doing.  You have to have faith in him and the Order."

"It's not that," Harry blurted, before he could stop himself.  He stopped himself short, but Sirius noticed.

"Finish what you were saying, Harry," Sirius said sharply.  He would not let his godson withdraw from him, he would not let Harry bear all his burden alone.  He knew that Harry did trust the Malfoy boy somewhat, but not to a very intimate extent.  He knew Harry wouldn't put the Weasleys and Hermione in danger by telling them anything.  So he fervently swore to himself to help Harry get through this—but to do so, he needed Harry to trust him.

Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and looked back down at the tabletop, looking just a bit depressed.  "Well…I have faith in the Order.  I don't have faith in myself."

Sirius waited patiently for Harry to explain himself.  Harry glanced back up at his godfather and then back at his hands.  "You guys made me a member of the Order, as if it would help or something.  As if _I_ could help.  I don't see why you did that.  Everyone…everywhere I go, they look at me as if I'm someone special, as if _I_ did something that made me so.  No one understands that my mother's protection saved me—it had nothing to do with me.  My mother's power stopped Voldemort.  Not mine.  I don't want any of the attention I get, I did nothing to deserve it."

Sirius felt sorely tempted to interrupt his young godson as he spoke, but held his tongue and waited for Harry to finish.  He felt sort of awed at the young boy's humble and modest view of himself.  Sirius didn't even want to wonder about how conceited he himself might have been with all the fame that his godson had.  He focused back onto what Harry was saying.

"…and I don't even know what I'm doing at Hogwarts, come to think of it," Harry muttered depressingly to himself.  "They shouldn't let me stay there, not when Voldemort is out there…he's coming after me first, and he'll hurt other people to get to me, he killed Cedric…."  Harry's voice faltered and Sirius felt it was time for him to step in.

"Harry, you can't think like that.  You can't.  It's not right at all.  People love you because of what you stand for, and for who you are."  Sirius glanced at Harry once more, then stood, pulling Harry up with him, and led him back to the porch.  He leaned against the rail and looked out into the pleasant-looking forest beyond the stone fence.

"I brought you here for a reason more than just to see this place.  I wanted to talk to you about the future, about now.  James and Lily meant the world to me.  They're gone.  But you're here, and you mean the world to me too.  I came here to put the past behind myself.  So I could promise myself, and maybe to Lily and James, if they're watching, that I would do my best to protect you and keep you happy and safe."

Sirius grinned at Harry sideways.  "But I can't do that without your cooperation.  If you'll have me, I really would love to look after you as I would were you my own son."

Sirius watched Harry, hiding his anxiety.  What the heck had made him say that?  He was quick to wonder what Harry's reaction would be: What if Harry said no?  What if Harry was offended that Sirius would suggest that he take James' place as his father?  The boy may have agreed to live with him before, but Sirius had never said anything about trying to be a father figure!  The more thoughts that raced through his head, the more he believed he had just royally screwed things up with his godson.

Harry, though, stared at Sirius with blank eyes.  After a few tense moments, he smiled widely.  "I'd love it," Harry said sincerely.

Sirius' mind didn't really comprehend Harry's answer.  _Oh, you idiot,_ he thought furiously, _I can't believe you said that, this whole thing was a bad idea, he'll never ever speak to you again, I don't even know where that came from, all I came here to say was that I was going to put my past behind myself, not tell him that I wanted to do for him what James never got the chance to do_….

Suddenly, he realized what Harry had said and stopped, staring at the boy with incredulity written all over his expression.  "Really?"

Harry nodded in a puzzled fashion, as if wondering why Sirius seemed so surprised.  Sirius gave a laugh, then, that was so happy and full of joy that Harry froze with wonder.  Then, with a joyous whoop, Sirius leaped forward and pulled Harry into a tight hug, and after a few confused moments, Harry cautiously hugged back.__

Releasing each other, the two smiled widely, and they felt something in themselves strengthen, a deeper bond being formed.  No matter what came at them, they'd be able to handle it…together.

***

It was dark by the time they returned to Hogwarts.  They had spent the afternoon exploring the woods and talking to each other.  It had been quite draining, emotionally, but he didn't remember ever feeling so, as corny as it may have seemed...loved.

"I talked to Moody yesterday," Sirius was saying as they strolled up to the entrance to Hogwarts.  "He said as long as I gave you and Draco a lesson today, he look over it.  You have to study really hard, this year, you know…not because of your grades, but anything you learn now may help you against Voldemort."

Harry nodded, and wished, not for the first time, that he had the same fervor that Hermione had with her studies.  He wished he could just as eagerly consume the information, but found that although he would have liked to, he was too overwhelmed by the sheer amount of work and stress that he couldn't.

He and Sirius went past the doors into the castle, and continued through the dark halls and changing staircases to Harry's new dorm.  They went up the staircase to the cul-de-sac where the portrait was.  Lily and James' portrait-selves were speaking when they saw Harry and Sirius.  They smiled, and purposely, without saying anything, swung forward.  Harry and Sirius climbed the spiral staircase to the mini-common room, and sat down at the fire.

Sirius pulled out his wand and muttered "_Incendio_" to make the fire bloom.  Harry glanced curiously and asked, "Where did you get that wand?"

Sirius smiled fondly at the tool in his hand.  "Turns out Arabella managed to get a hold of my wand and kept it…she was there, that day, posing as a muggle when I confronted Peter.  She got my wand, unnoticed, and kept it."  Sirius shrugged.  "Well.  Hold on, let me go get a few things…."

Sirius went around back and towards Draco's room, which he knocked at before entering.  There was a scuffling sound before Draco's pale face appeared and pulled the door open.  He scowled.  "What is it _now_?  Want to take another shot at baking a cake, do you?  Well, I'm sorry, but I sincerely think you're hopeless—"

Sirius swatted Draco away from the door and went into a corner of his room, gathering all of Harry's gifts that they had hid there.  "You bring the cake," he ordered Draco.

Draco scowled again.  "It's not a cake," he muttered as they were walking back into the common room, "it's a poison so toxic that I don't think even Snape can decipher it."

Sirius snorted.  "It doesn't kill like poison does," he pointed out.

"Yeah," Draco said, scrunching up his nose.  "But it leaves an aftertaste."

But Sirius was already bounding to Harry, dropping all the presents beside him and plopping down merrily to watch as he opened his gifts.  Draco rolled his eyes as he set the "cake" on the table, and decided to watch—just out of curiosity.

Harry smiled gratefully at his godfather, and then at Draco.  "Thank you," he said, before turning to his gifts.  He seemed eager to see what as given to him.  Draco was surprised at how young Harry seemed suddenly.  Granted, Draco was born January and was only six months older, but somehow Harry conveyed a certain childish innocence that Draco couldn't help but notice.

Harry grabbed the first gift in the pile and plucked off the card.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm relieved you're at Hogwarts, everyone's been worried sick about you.  It really is the safest place for you to be, and I daresay you like it there better than with the Dursleys._

_I'm also glad to hear that you're doing some extra reading_—_it's about time I started rubbing off on someone.  I've already memorized the school textbooks for this year, so I've picked up a fascinating book about Bulgaria_—_I'm going to visit Viktor the week before term begins.  Ron hasn't been talking to me since he found out.  Oh well, maybe you can get through to him?  I hope you're having a productive time at Hogwarts_—_put the library to good use_—_and the quidditch pitch!  And, of course, happy 15th birthday!_

_Love,  
Hermione_

Harry smiled and passed the note to Sirius to read.  As he was pulling the wrapping off the parcel, Sirius asked dryly, "When will they admit that they're in love with each other?"

Harry shrugged.  "Knowing Ron, maybe a few years…."

Draco laughed, putting the card down after reading it.  He was about to say something insulting about Ron and Hermione before Sirius caught his eye and made it clear that he didn't want Draco saying anything about them at all.

Harry found that Hermione had sent him a personalized snitch.  It had his name engraved into it, and a manual on how to use it.  Harry laughed in wonder, and activated it, letting it fly around the common room crazily.  As the snitch stopped on Harry's left side, Harry's hand snaked out and plucked it from the air, deactivating it and putting it back in its case.

"You two can practice on the pitch tomorrow, if you like," Sirius said as Harry put his snitch aside.  "I have some work to do, so I can't watch, but I'll try to stop by.  The weather should be nice tomorrow."

Harry nodded and proceeded to the next gift, from Ron.

_Harry_—__

_It's good that you got away from the Dursleys.  But Snape being in the castle must make up for that.  I've been practicing quidditch with Fred and George all summer, so I can try out for Keeper this year.  There hasn't been an opening for ages and I want to take a shot at it.  Did you hear from Hermione?  She's going to Bulgaria to spend time with her little Vicky!  She's completely nutters….  Well, I hope you like your gift.  Write back soon, all of us are wondering what you're up to at Hogwarts._

—_Ron_

Harry smiled and shook his head, a bit ruefully.  "The longer they don't get it, the harder it'll be for me to put up with their constant fighting…."

He unwrapped his gift and found that Ron had gotten him a Chudley Cannons scrapbook, with the history of the team and its players since the team had been created.

Harry took the next gift into his hands, and read the card.

_Harry_—__

_Wear this at all times.  Your father had it, so I dug it back up from your parents' old things for you.  Happy birthday.  Don't get yourself into trouble._

—_Hagrid_

Harry pulled a long, thin silver chain out of the small packet, and found a phoenix pendant on it.  It was very pretty, small, and made of a delicate-looking colored glass.  The strange thing was that the pendant looked as though it were alive; it was flaming and the little pendant phoenix started singing a content little melody, soothing to Harry's mind.

But Sirius wasn't staring at it in the same fashion Harry and Draco were.  Rather, he seemed to have paled just a bit.  "Harry, let me see that," Sirius said, holding out his hand.  Harry looked at his godfather curiously before handing it over.

Sirius closed his fist around the small pendant.  Closing his eyes, and reaching out through the power of the Order that ran through him, he poked at the pendant with his senses.  He had sensed an immense magical power in it when Harry had been holding it, but for some reason, the pendant wasn't nearly as strong as Sirius thought it may be.  _Strange,_ he thought.  _It was more powerful when James was wearing it_….

"Harry, touch the pendant with your finger," Sirius ordered, opening his fist.  Harry obeyed, and Sirius sensed the object's power rise quickly.  But it was even stronger than when James had worn the pendant.

_Damn._

Sirius kept his eyes closed a few moments more, wishing it wasn't true and that Hagrid hadn't given this and that Harry wasn't in the Order….  He opened his eyes and handed it to Harry.  "Wear it," he said wearily.  "Don't ever take it off.  It has strong…protection charms."

Harry nodded solemnly, slipping the chain over his head.  The little pendant sang a cheerful note, before quieting down.  Harry smiled faintly, before reaching for the next gift—from Remus.

_We thought you might want this back.  Use it wisely._

—_Remus_

It was the Marauder's Map!  Harry eagerly looked the parchment over to make sure that Barty Crouch Jr. hadn't hurt it in anyway from the year before, and tucked into his pocket.  He would not let Draco see it—it would come in extremely handy during the Prank War.

"What was that?" Draco asked, peering over to get a closer look at it.

"Just an old bit of parchment," Harry replied, waving it in Draco's face and putting it away once again.

Draco snorted.  "What'd Lupin give you that for?"

"Well," Harry said, wracking his head for an excuse.  "Well—it's a very nice old bit of parchment."

Draco snorted again, but didn't say anything.

"And here's my gift," Sirius said, pulling a small parcel out of his robes and handing it to Harry.  Harry grinned as he said his thanks and opened the parcel.

Inside was a wristwatch of Gryffindor colors.  The band was metal, plated red, and the watch was gold.  It was like a wizard watch-there were no numbers, but little things that said "Mortal Peril" and "Hogwarts" and "Ministry" and "Traveling" and so on.  There were hands with names on them-Sirius, Hermione, Remus, Ron, Draco, Severus, Flora, Orpheus, Diedra, Hagrid, Chardae, Minerva, Arabella, Albus, and Alastor.

"You can add more names to it later, if you like," Sirius said, "but leave the Order members alone.  I want you to be able to tell what's going on with them."

"I didn't realize that so few people were in it," Harry muttered.  "Seemed to me like all of Hogwarts was in that room."

Sirius gave a half-grin at Harry.  "Well, the Professors were invited to come and watch, but only so they know who they can trust.  They're not members of the Order, and as long as they're not in the Phoenix Room, they don't remember anything that took place."

"But then how would they know who to trust?" Draco asked.

"It's a feeling they get," Sirius said.  He paused, before elaborating, and noticed how dead-still and silent the two boys had become, both eager for more information on the Order.  He sighed inwardly—Harry wouldn't be able to get into much trouble just from a _little_ information, would he?

Sirius quickly made up his mind, and started speaking.

**july 31st**

**end**

****

**A/N****:** Okay, well, I know that took me ages.  But it's 15 pages long!  By the way, I want to finish this fic by the time book 5 comes out, so look for more frequent posts.

I started a semi-serious humor/action fic called "Catch" so read that (and review) to lighten up!  Hehe ^^() Shameless advertising....  I wrote the second chapter of that, but it was awful so I'm re-writing it.

As always, please review, and tell me whether you want to be on the mailing list (leave your address!)!

~ Jedi Cosmos ~


	11. the new term

**Author's Note:** Arg, not another long chapter!  ^.~ Harry & Draco learn a bit more bout the Order, Ron and Hermione are back, along with Fred, George, and Ginny...hopefully this will be more lighthearted than the last chapter.  Don't know why, but I fell into a mind block.  I knew what to write…I just didn't get up to do it.

  


BOOK FIVE NEWS: Bad news!  I've been asking people in bookstores about book five, and they say that they really doubt that it'll be coming out this summer, because it hasn't been advertised for, or they haven't received any information on it yet.  They say everything got pushed back till next summer.  ARGH!

  


**Important: **I feel the need to address the issue that some people have been making with the relationship between Harry and Draco.  NO slash, as I think I've said about ten hundred times in just as many long and tedious author notes.  They are NOT friends, or exactly "friendly" with each other, either.  When Harry said in chapter 3, "Give me a reason", he was asking Draco to essentially give him a reason to trust him – to prove himself.  Draco, on the other hand, has just run away from home to embark on a dangerous quest to join his family's enemies in order to fight off and spy on one of the most powerful and evil wizards of all time.  He NEEDS Harry's trust – because he's got no one else. They both clean the slate in that moment, put everything behind them and start over.  Harry understood that about Draco, and gave him the chance—and Draco knew that he had to change. Harry is a genuinely kind person – and Slytherin's keep their allies close, their enemies closer—and to Draco, Harry is both.  They are both trying to make the best of things, and that includes being at least civil towards each other.  I'm sorry that wasn't clear in the chapter, and I'll go back and revise it sometime.

  


Now…enjoy the post!

  


**the**

  


**new term******

  


"The Order of the Phoenix was originally founded by Merlin, on the orders of King Arthur.  It's known as a myth, and, as far as I know, people haven't the slightest idea that it's been recalled for ever since..." Sirius shrugged.  "Ever since your grandfather revived the Order to fight Grindelwald."

  


Sirius grinned.  "He and Dumbledore were close, you know...they got along well.  Looked out for each other, they did..." Sirius trailed off wistfully.  "Anyway, the members of the Order are granted two things by their oath—the initiation—one was the awakening of their true abilities, and two, a bond that connects the members."

  


Harry and Draco stayed still, both expecting more information.  When none came, both of them seemed to relax.

  


Draco gave a haughty look at Sirius.  "I want to know _everything_ about the Order."

  


Harry nodded eagerly.

  


Sirius blew out a longer breath.  "You'll learn more during your training lessons."

  


"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco muttered under his breath.  "What is it with you people and not telling me things?"

  


Sirius shrugged.  "Dumbledore's orders," he said simply.

  


Draco grumbled something unintelligible, but stopped when Sirius started speaking again.

  


"I promised Moody to teach you something useful today, though," Sirius said.  "The only way I got the old sod to let me take you for the day…."

  


Draco laughed and shook his head.  "No way am I going to let you 'teach' me anything!  You're on par with Longbottom when it comes to potions.  I don't trust you with anything else."

  


Sirius didn't even glance at him.  "Either me or Moody, Drakie, take your pick."

  


Harry glanced at Draco, and found an expression of severe uncertainty on the others face.  "How is this hard?"

  


"You don't know him like I do," Draco said darkly.

  


Harry gave a short, disbelieving laugh, but left it alone.  Turning to Sirius, he asked, "Teach something interesting that doesn't involve us being tied to chairs or bouncing off walls as ferrets."

  


Draco shot Harry a look, who deftly ignored it.

  


Sirius shrugged, and as he pulled out his wand, he had a thoughtful expression on his face.  "Well, Chardae is the real expert on all this around here, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to teach you the basics of disguise."

  


Draco actually grinned.  "Wands?"

  


Sirius nodded.  As Harry and Draco tugged their wands from their robe pockets, Sirius explained things to them.

  


"Okay, the most important tool is your wand, when it comes to disguises.  Potions are also commonly used, but they are usually for the more powerful disguises, such as the Polyjuice.  They last for a less amount of time than a spell would, but can do things that the wand can't.  For now, I'll show you how to use spells to alter your appearances, but only just."  Sirius shot them a grin.  "I'll let Chardae teach you the more complicated things the way he wants, because he's the master at it."

  


"Then _he_ should be the one to teach us," Draco muttered after a moment of silence.  "Anyone but you, I mean.  You _have_ threatened me on quite a few occasions, when it suit you."  He narrowed his eyes at the grinning man.

  


Sirius shrugged non-committally, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.  "Anyway," he lifted his wand towards his face, "you need to do quite a bit of visualization when it comes to these spells.  They take bursts of powerful magic—the more power you put into the spell, the longer it lasts, basically.  What do you want to start with first?"

  


"Eye color," Draco said promptly.  "And hair color."

  


Harry shot him a curious sidelong glance, but shrugged aside the eager expression on the other boy's face.  Maybe he didn't like being blond or something.  Considering the fact that Draco also greatly resembled his father, Harry wouldn't have blamed him for wanting to look different.

  


"Say _Crinis_ to change the color of your hair.  You want to imagine the color _exactly_ as you want it, or else it'll turn your hair into something…unpleasant."  Sirius pointed the wand at his own short-cropped (but still shaggy) hair, and said, "_Crinis_ _yellow_!"

  


Rather abruptly, sparks flew from Sirius' wand as if pollen were rising in a wind from a bed of flowers, and seemed to fly straight into his hair—wrapping, weaving, binding—each strand in color.  Moments later, Sirius Black had long, bright, sunshine yellow hair.

  


"You have to wait at least a day before changing the color again," Sirius explained, slowly, as if he had forgotten.  Apparently, he had.  He brooded for a few seconds.  "Well, luckily I didn't put much power into that spell."

  


Harry blinked at how unfamiliar Sirius seemed, without his black hair.  Strangely, black was the only color that he had really associated with Sirius—excluding the fact that his surname was of the same name of the color.  Sirius and the color black just seemed to define the other.

  


Almost shyly, Harry chuckled at Sirius.  Draco cracked a smile, but didn't seem to be into it.

  


"Turn your eyes bubblegum pink," Draco suggested.  "And your robes orange.  You'd make some sight in the castle…it'd be good blackmail material, as well…."

  


"'Bubblegum pink'?" Sirius quoted incredulously, his eyebrows raised.  "Since when do you know something muggle?"

  


All of Draco's little good humor seemed to fade.  His gaze lowered, his straight-backed stance faltered, and his hands curled into loose fists.  "It was my mother's favorite color," he explained, his voice crisp and completely devoid of any sort of emotion.  His reply was short and curt…and apparently, finished.

  


Sirius didn't know what had affected the boy so much in his comment, so he carefully decided not to notice it.  Instead, he lifted the wand and pointed at his eye.

  


"_Oculo__blue_!"

  


Both Harry and Draco watched the change come over Sirius's eyes.  When it did, both needed only a moment's pause to say—

  


"Whoa—"

  


"—you look—"

  


"—like—"

  


And both said at the same time, "—_Lockhart_!"

  


Sirius's bland expression slowly turned disgusted, then…delighted.

  


"Oh, no," Draco moaned.  "He's thought of something…."

  


"Right you are, my little friend," he said, his eyes glazed as if he were thinking of anything but what was around him.  He stood quickly.  "It is time to give Snapie-pooh some nightmares!"

  


Harry raised an amused eyebrow and couldn't help but grin at Sirius's antics.  And scaring Snape in the process would be a plus.  Draco, on the other hand, glowered at the man and said, "I'll tell him it was you."

  


Sirius shrugged.  "He'll figure it out anyway, once he really thinks about it."

  


And then he left to execute his plan.

  


*******

  


Severus Snape was comfortably situated in the teacher's lounge, fighting the urge to doze off.  He still needed to finish writing up the comprehensive tests for the fifth years—and then he was done.

  


Hmm…the fifth year test.  That detestable Potter boy will be taking this, so I might was well make it very difficult.  The ingredients to a wolfsbane potion, measurements, and order of mixture…seventh year material.

  


He wrote it into the test.

  


What else now?  How about 'how much Veritaserum would you feed a man with a mass of fifty-three kilograms, if the potion, regulated at standard temperature pressure, is diluted by ten milliliters of hydrogen?'  Sounds good…sixth year material.

  


He wrote it into the test.

  


Reaching for the mug of coffee on the small table by the chair, and took a deep, long sip of its contents.

  


"I still have two weeks to finish this," Severus said to himself out loud.  "Better yet, I'll just give the fifth years two questions which I know they don't know the answers to either of, and make it a hundred points."  _Very simple grading.  All F's—except my students, of course._

  


Finding the solution quite simply, Severus gulped the last of his coffee and placed the mug back where he had found it—on a platter on a small condominiums stand by the wall.  It instantly vanished, and a new mug of coffee appeared in its place.

  


Leaving his test papers there, Severus left the teachers lounge, yawning, as he made his way back to his room in the dungeons.

  


***

  


Sirius came back, about an hour later, practically beaming.  "I did it."

  


"Did what?" Harry asked, curious to know what his godfather was on about.

  


Sirius grinned at his godson.  He fondly ruffled the boy's hair, and replied, "Leave it to be a surprise.  It'll be better, trust me."

  


Draco watched Sirius crossly.  "I'll go tell him now."

  


"No, you won't," Sirius replied cheerfully, raising his wand at Draco.

  


And he didn't.

  


***

  


A couple of weeks later, it was September fourth, the first day of the new term.  Harry was surprised when he realized quite how excited he was for this day to come, and the first three days of September had seemed to go by agonizingly slow.  Just as it always did, while he was with the Dursleys, but this time, less so.  He was already in the castle—all he had to do was wait for Ron and Hermione, and he also had Sirius and Remus around to talk to, if he ever wanted.

  


Draco, meanwhile, had become much more spiteful on the eve of the other students' return.  What reason for, Harry could not decipher.

  


Then again, not by any means had they become friends.  Draco would not say anything about it, but Harry could tell by the subtle changes in the other boy's demeanor in the past few days.  Draco smirked less often, made less attempts to irritate Harry, and would sit in front of the fire in the shared small, but cozy common room even more than usual.  He would always have something with him—a book, assignments—but his eyes would always be gazing into the fire, as if transfixed by something.

  


Whatever it may have been, Harry could never tell.  But for today, he put it in the back of his mind—he longed for Ron and Hermione's reassuring presences more than ever.

  


He woke and dressed, and soon enough, it was night—he practically sprinted down the corridor from his daily visit to Sirius and Remus, only to find Draco in the common room, lying on the couch and staring into the fire.

  


His concern grew steadily as he approached the other boy, a little part of him saying he didn't want to know what was wrong with the other boy, and that he should just leave.  It _begged_ him to leave, this little voice.  It pleaded for him to let people deal with their own problems.

  


Shoving the little voice aside, with quite a bit of difficulty, the other, stronger, more dominant part of Harry said that he couldn't leave someone alone if they weren't feeling well or if they needed help—no matter what.

  


Seating himself rather ungracefully on a chair, he gazed at Draco's head.  Tilting his head to his right shoulder, he continued to watch silently, as if it would give him a different perspective.

  


Ten minutes later, Draco slowly moved his head in Harry's direction, not being able to stand those jewel-bright eyes staring at the back of his head.  "What is it?"

  


Harry shrugged, reaching one hand to rub his neck.  "You tell me."

  


Draco blinked slowly, and languidly stretched out all as he rolled to his back on the couch.  Staring at the ceiling, with one arm draped over his forehead, as if to block out excess light, he said, "Why aren't you downstairs in the Great Hall?  The students _have_ arrived, you know."

  


Harry leaned back into the chair, nodding thoughtfully as he tucked his legs under himself.  "Good question."  That little part of him telling him to leave was sorely tempted to add, '_why _AM_ I here?_' and walk away to the Great Hall.  But Harry just wouldn't have it.

  


"Why have you been acting like this?" Harry asked, his voice quiet, but firm.  He _would_ have an answer.

  


"Like what?"  Draco's voice was soft, as if he didn't feel like being defensive, as if he wanted to talk.

  


"For the past week, you have been acting oddly," Harry said without preamble.  "You're always sitting here doing nothing, staring like a zombie into the fire, and you're not annoying me as much."  With a pause, he demanded, "What's wrong?"

  


Draco laughed.  "You're actually surprisingly funny, Potter.  I don't know if you mean to be, or not, but still—you're funny."

  


Harry glared at Draco.  "Don't evade my point."

  


"Your point," Draco sneered.  "Well.  I don't have to answer to anything—or any_one_, Potter.  Stay the hell out of my business."  With that last thought, Draco rolled off the couch and moved toward the portrait.

  


Harry watched the other boy leave the dorm with an expression of incredulity.  Next time he'd listen to the other voice.

  


Running to catch up with Draco, Harry decided to leave everything alone for now.  "What time is it now?"

  


"Everyone's already started the feast," Draco replied.  Just as they reached the front doors of the Great Hall, Draco put a hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him from walking in.  "How are we going to deal with this?"

  


"What do you mean?"  Harry was absolutely puzzled as to what Draco was talking about, and too eager to see Ron and Hermione to really try to pay attention.

  


Draco glared at Harry shortly before taking out his wand.  Closing his eyes and muttering a spell that Harry didn't quite catch, suddenly someone jogged out to the hall.

  


Harry had to keep himself from jumping when he found himself staring at a mirror image of Draco Malfoy.  "Your illusion spell?" he asked the real Draco wryly.  Suddenly, the illusion seemed to flicker and die in his eyes.  Confused, he asked, "Is it still there?"

  


Draco flicked his wand at the space where the image had been standing a moment ago, and said with a glint in his eye, "Not anymore."

  


"Oh, right," Harry said slowly, as a memory of the recent past came to mind.  "If I know it's an illusion, it disappears."

  


Draco nodded, giving Harry a half-smirk that was so sarcastic.

  


"Do we go in, or what?" Harry asked.  "I mean…now that I think about it, running into the Great Hall at this time is really—"

  


Draco rolled his eyes.  "What do you care—you're the famous Harry Potter.  One look at me and everyone'll be disappointed that I wasn't Avada Kedavra'd over the summer."

  


"That's not true," Harry said, frowning and shaking his head.  "I mean, sure, a lot of people hate you, but none that want to see you dead."

  


Draco sniffed at Harry contemptuously.  "You're far too naïve, Potter."

  


Harry sighed irritably.  "You've been saying that since we got to Hogwarts."

  


Draco shrugged.  "It's true—I mean, you'd think that you would have at _least_ caught that ambush that Fortescue had set out during that lesson a week ago, and the time that Diggle dragged in that gigantic snake you started talking to it right away and were completely content until you realized it had curled around you and started suffocating you.  And the time that Fletcher staged a thing with a little kid in danger from Death Eaters and you started going _towards_ them instead of getting away—"

  


"All right already," Harry growled.  "That's enough.  Now—"

  


Suddenly, there was a rumble of students getting up to go to their dorms, and for a split second, Draco and Harry stood there, not saying a thing but looking at each other with uncertainty and alarm.

  


"Hide, for now," Draco snapped, grabbing the sleeve of Harry's robe and tugging the boy behind a staircase, alongside him.

  


Slowly the rush of students ebbed, Harry keeping a lookout for Ron or Hermione, or both.  About five minutes of silent anxiety, Harry saw three students step out of the Great Hall, and stand by the side of the open doors, just as he and Draco had stood a little while ago.

  


Instead of running, although that's what he certainly wanted to do, he approached the three slowly, starting to overhear their conversation.

  


"Oh, what if something's happened?  Dumbledore would have told us, wouldn't he?"

  


"Come off it—he's probably fine.  Dumbledore wouldn't let anything happen to him."

  


"That's what I believed until the Third Task, too."  The last—third—voice was quiet, subdued with worry and sorrow.

  


"Well, I'm not dead and nothing's happened to me," Harry said cheerfully.

  


Two of the three spun suddenly, their jaws dropped as if ready to cry out in fear.

  


"_Harry_!"  Hermione looked delighted with joy and immediately pulled him into a tight hug—crushing the oxygen out of him, in the process.

  


"Air," he gasped, and Hermione released him, her eyes wide and bright with tears of relief.

  


Hermione gave a huge smile and pointed to a pin on her robes.  Harry laughed.  "That's great news, Hermione!  Not really news, but…."

  


He looked at Ron and smiled at his best friend.  Ron gave a reassured laugh and a friendly cuff to Harry's shoulder.  "Good to see you, Harry."  He looked him over for a moment, and gave a soft snort.  "Guess I can't call you a midget anymore."

  


Harry blinked, and to his surprise, realized that although Ron had grown taller, they were nearly on eye-level with each other.  He smiled again.  Then he glanced down at the last figure, surprised.

  


"Hey, Ginny," he said, his voice kind.  "How was your summer?"

  


"Terrible," she replied flatly.

  


Then she stomped away.

  


Harry blinked after her.  "Does she hate me now for any particular reason, or…?"

  


"It's just that time of the month," Ron dismissed with a wave of his hand.

  


"Ron!"

  


"Sorry, Herm," Ron said, grinning sheepishly.  "I just—"

  


"—forgot I'm a girl, huh?"  She sniffed indignantly.  "Well then, I think I'll be off now.  I'll talk to you later, Harry."

  


She turned around and stomped after Ginny.

  


After a moment of bewildered stares, Ron shrugged confusedly.  "I guess it's that time of the month for her, too…?"

  


Harry laughed this time, a certain sort of stress leaving him as he reunited with his best friend.  Ron smiled widely, but sobered when his eyes fell on Harry's.  _There are more shadows there than I remember_.  The reality of what had happened during the Third Task still hit Ron hard, and unexpectedly, every time he really _looked_ at his best friend.  Softly, he said, "Come on back to the common room—Hermione and I need to talk to you."

  


Harry nodded.  "You go ahead, I'll catch up.  I just need to talk to Dumbledore about some stuff for the new term."

  


Ron nodded, then walked away, his footsteps lighter than they had been.  He felt a sort of elevation at being in Hogwarts.  He was safe here.  The safest he could be.  And Harry would be here, in sight at all times, and he and Hermione would look after the Boy Who Lived.  The Boy Who Was Their Best Friend.

  


Ron sighed as he started up a staircase.  A small thought crossed his mind.  There hadn't been any disappearances during the summer—actually, it went quite normally.  Why would You-Know-Who resurface only to stay low?

  


Shaking his head, he told himself that he would not allow doubts against Harry's word to take over his judgment.  He had done that last year when Harry had been chosen Champion, and had taken his jealousy out on him, when Harry had been a good friend.  He would never do that again.

  


Reaching the Gryffindor portrait, he said the password, "_Pixie Sticks_" and found Hermione sitting in the mostly empty common room in front of the fire.  Fred, George, and Ginny were also sitting there, all talking in hushed voices.  When they noticed Ron walk in, they turned to look at him.

  


"Where's Harry?" Ginny demanded.

  


Ron shrugged.  "He had to go talk to Dumbledore about something for the school year."  He sat down next to Hermione.

  


"Well," Fred said impatiently, "what gives?  Harry was brought to Hogwarts over the summer—we know that.  But why?"

  


"For protection, you prat," George replied.  "But there seems to be something different about him."

  


There was a short silence, before Ginny shrugged and offered, "He's taller now."  She blushed.

  


"Quieter," Hermione followed, her eyes far away and glazed with a thin, wet layer.  "Older—darker."

  


The silence this time was tense and tangible.  They knew what it meant, that Harry had been deeply affected by the events of the Third Task, and nearly murdered after being tortured.  That's all they knew.  Harry had never told them what happened, but they had seen the condition he was in when he arrived with Dumbledore in the Hospital Wing after it had happened.  Cut up, bruised, trembling, and bleeding.  His eyes were no longer as bright as they used to be.

  


Softly, Fred said, "He doesn't deserve this…he's only a kid…."

  


"We need to help protect him," George said, resolution and determination flickering in his bright eyes.  All four of the Weasleys them nodded at each other, the same tenacity reflecting in each of their faces.

  


Quietly, Hermione, ever being the voice of reason, said, "You guys don't get it.  You-Know-Who is _powerful_.  And evil.  _Utterly_ evil.  Dumbledore couldn't protect Harry last year.  What makes you think that we can?"

  


The four faces fell, each realizing the truth of what she had said.  Hermione allowed herself a small smile.  "That doesn't mean we can't help in another way—the most important way."

  


"How?" Fred asked suspiciously.

  


"I read a book about this sort of thing—oh, _don't_ laugh, Ron—I do _not_ go to a book for everything," Hermione scolded Ron.  "Anyway, he's suffered a great trauma.  First and foremost, we need to help him deal with everything he's going through, and understand that he's had a rough time.  We need to be really patient and nice with him, and do our best to make sure he doesn't get upset."

  


She paused and waited for a nod from each of the fiery heads of red.  "Then, we also need to help Harry study hard this year—"

  


"'Mione," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes.  He stared at her intently.  "Are you kidding?  We shouldn't push him to do his homework if he doesn't want to!"

  


Hermione felt a flush rise to her cheeks, but she wasn't sure whether it was because she was angry or something else.  "No, I mean it.  Everything Harry learns can help him when he's in trouble again.  We should make sure he's doing well with all his classes."

  


George nodded.  "That's sounds a bit right," he said with a nod.  Then he smiled.  "Mind, I'll hate doing that to the _poor_ boy—"

  


"—we _hated_ it ourselves—"

  


"—especially when mum was _constantly_ nagging—"

  


"—when we didn't do our work—"

  


"—it was only _once_ a term—"

  


"—a month—"

  


"More like every week," Ginny muttered.  She fixed her brown eyes on Hermione.  "What else?"

  


"And," Hermione said with a flourish, "we need to make sure he doesn't go looking for trouble."

  


"Trouble finds him," Ron said in defense of his best friend.  "I know as well as any of us that he doesn't want all the attention he gets—"

  


"Ron," Fred said in an oddly gentle voice, "we can at least keep him from getting deeper into what's going on, all right?  She's right—no more night wanderings, no more following up on suspicious things, no matter what—if there's anything odd, go straight to Dumbledore, you hear?  He's the only one that can really protect Harry now."

  


Ron met his older brother's gaze for a moment, held it, then looked away.  "All right.  But he won't like it."

  


"Who won't like what?"

  


They jumped, but calmed when they realized it was only Harry coming in through the portrait door.

  


"Er…" Hermione shot a look at Fred and George, who, of course, immediately catching the drift, stood and raced towards Harry.  Harry backed away looking a little more than just a bit apprehensive, and couldn't say he was much surprised when he felt someone hold him still and something edible being stuffed in his mouth by someone else—it tasted quite good, actually—and feathers suddenly cropping on his skin.

  


"How long does this last?" Harry groaned, trying to shake some of the feathers off.  Fred and George exchanged glances and shrugged.

  


"A few seconds—"

  


"—minutes—"

  


"—hours—"

  


"Oh, please shut it," Ginny said, irritated.  "It's bad enough that you two spent the whole train ride talking in prose—"

  


"I thought we were good," George said.

  


Ginny smiled unpleasantly, and said in an informative tone of voice, slightly reminiscent of Percy, "You weren't."

  


Fred and George were interrupted from reply by the feathers molting off of Harry and vanishing.  Harry smiled a little uncertainly at them as they turned their amazingly wide—and devious—smiles at him, sat himself down in the closest chair by the fire.

  


"Spill, Harry," Ron said, before Harry could remember what he had asked about earlier, relieved by the distraction that his brothers pulled.  "Why were you here over the summer?"

  


Harry shrugged, and gave a lopsided grin that faded pretty quickly.  "Well…turns out old Mrs. Figg who used to baby-sit for me when I was little is a witch—Arabella Figg, Professor Dumbledore's sister—and she brought me to Hogwarts for the summer."  Harry racked his head.  He gave half of the truth—and there was no way he would let Ron and Hermione, or even Ginny and the twins, discover the secret he kept about the Order of the Phoenix.

  


"That must have been great," Ron said with a sigh.

  


"Yeah," George agreed.  "We asked mum if we could come visit you—" Fred snickered "—but she said that the poor professors staying over the summer wouldn't've been able to stay sane."

  


"We can barely handle sitting near you on the train ride," Ginny said, her tone harsh, but an affectionate smile creeping into her face.  "How can you expect the professors to put up with you, when you're not hampered by house points or classes or homework or detention?"

  


They both seemed to think about it, until George shrugged, and Fred said, "Good point."

  


Ron laughed as Hermione giggled.  Ron looked at Harry sideways, and noticed a small smile.  _That's something_.

  


Harry shifted in his seat.  "Well, I'm going to sleep for the night.  I'll see you guys tomorrow."

  


"Aren't you going up to the dorm?" Ron asked, confused when he saw Harry walk towards the portrait.

  


"Dumbledore doesn't want me to stay in the dorms," Harry said simply, his voice more than a bit vacant of emotion.  Before anyone could say anything, he said a plain "goodnight" and left the common room.

  


There was a grimness in the air that Ron hadn't felt nearly so heavily as before.

  


"Death Eaters," Fred said, his blue eyes cloudy.

  


"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.

  


"Dumbledore doesn't want to chance Harry's life," Hermione said, catching on quickly to what Fred had said.  "He doesn't want to risk someone in the Gryffindor dorms being a Death Eater."

  


Ginny seemed to pale.  "Someone in _Gryffindor_?"

  


"You'd be surprised," Ron remarked off-handedly, his mind wandering to Pettigrew.  What must it have felt like for James Potter to realize too late that one of his dearest friends had betrayed him and his family?

  


Hermione glanced at Ron quickly, and said, "Well, what Ron means is that You-Know-Who has a lot of influence, and using dark magic to gain power over others is easier than using light."

  


George sighed, and then stood.  "Well, we'd better get to bed.  We can talk to Harry a bit tomorrow.  We need to figure out who's going to be the new Quidditch captain."

  


The twins and Ginny left, leaving only Ron and Hermione sitting together.

  


Hermione shivered.  "I can't imagine what Harry went through," she said hoarsely.  "After all this time, I can't believe how he made it back to us."

  


Ron nodded.  "He's never been the Boy Who Lived to us, has he?  Just Harry Potter."

  


Hermione sniffled, and Ron mentally groaned.  "Oh, come on, 'Mione, don't cry."

  


"Oh, Ron, I'm just so worried for him," Hermione said tearfully.

  


Ron sighed, and shrugged helplessly.  "Come on," he said heavily, after a few moments.  "We'd better get to sleep; classes start early tomorrow."

  


***

  


When Harry got back to his room, he was full of mixed feelings.  A bit guilty for lying—well, not entirely; just some fibbing and stretching or avoiding the truth—to Ron and Hermione.  Not to mention Ginny and the twins.  He hadn't really talked to Dumbledore—he'd told Draco to go on ahead, and that he'd catch up later.  There was also a bit of relief.  His two best friends were back, safe.

  


But mostly, there was just a general knot of confusion and anxiety in his stomach.  He wasn't sure how they'd take his odd but not non-existent friendship with Draco.

  


Harry sighed and pushed it from his mind, warily deciding to deal with it when the time came.  He was rushing back to meet Draco in their mini-common room.

  


When he walked in, he found Draco hastily scribbling on a sheet of parchment.  Looking over his shoulder, Harry asked, "What's that for?  Moody didn't give us anything for today, did he?"

  


Draco nodded curtly.  "A comprehensive essay on what we learned over the summer about the muggle forms of defense we've studied, and how it has an edge over wizards.  He's given us a week to write it, so it'd better be good."

  


"But that's not what you're writing."

  


Draco scowled.  "I forgot to write my summer essay for Sinistra.  With all the work they've piled us up with…."

  


Harry nodded softly, and thoughtfully considering, slowly said, "If you want, you can read my essay."

  


Draco looked up at Harry sharply, his sharp gray eyes searching emerald to see if there was any sort of trick to them.  Draco quickly averted his gaze to his parchment, which his quill had been dripping ink on.

  


Giving a short, sheepish laugh, and a small grin, he said, "I don't think I'd mind if I could…."

  


Harry smiled, and went to go get it from the pile of books he had left on one of the ebony tables to the side.  "Here," he said, handing it to Draco, "just make sure you don't make it recognizable."

  


Draco nodded, as Harry sat down and sunk into the chair by the fire.  After a few moments of silence, Draco said a tentative "thanks" with a cautious smirk.

  


Harry glanced backwards at Draco in surprise, but the other boy had gone back to the assignment.  It came unexpectedly, this "thanks" of Draco's.  No matter how kind Harry found himself being to the Slytherin, he had only been treated with a cold and stiff response.  They didn't have their petty fights anymore—after the first few weeks, Draco had worked hard not to insult Harry—out loud, at least.  They had been getting along without interacting much with one another, aside from their lessons.  This was the first time Draco had smiled or thanked him for anything.

  


Harry gazed back into the fire, leaning back into the chair lazily.  "So, what are we going to do about Ron and Hermione?"

  


Draco barely glanced up from the essay.  "What do I care what you do?"

  


Harry glared at Draco.  "Well, I don't want to hurt their feelings.  They've always been there for me, and to keep something so huge from them isn't right.  But I can't let them know about the Order, or else they're in danger.  And I don't even know how to begin explaining the Prank War—they'll think it's a repetition of the Triwizard Tournament."

  


Draco set his nearly complete essay aside and settled into his seat better, this time looking up at Harry as he spoke.  "We could always say that we were chosen because we're Prefects, since all the other names I remember are of people in line to become Prefects, or ones that are."

  


Harry blew out a breath.  "I completely forgot we were Prefects.  Of course they made Hermione one.  Ron's going to be upset."

  


"What for?" Draco said, not bothering to hide to expression of dislike on his face.

  


"He'd get jealous," Harry replied sullenly.  "Last year he got jealous because I was accepted into the Triwizard Tournament.  He'd get upset now too."

  


Draco shrugged.  "That's entirely _his_ problem.  When is the Prank War going to begin, anyway?"

  


"Sirius said to meet him tomorrow right for breakfast in our dorm, so Professor Dumbledore will probably announce it then.  We won't have to be there for it, which is good, because then everyone won't stare."

  


Draco made a face.  "I'd _rather_ have everyone gawk at me than eat breakfast with your godfather."

  


As Sirius had anticipated this reaction from Draco, he told Harry exactly what to say.  "If you _don't_ come, he said that you would make up for the time as a bouncing ferret."

  


Draco scowled.  "I hate you," he grumbled.

  


"The feeling's mutual," Harry replied apathetically.  The exchange had become some sort of inside joke between them—except, of course, they weren't entirely kidding.

  


***

  


"So what's been going on?"

  


Sirius had just explained over a breakfast of buttered toast, scones, and a goblet of orange juice what had been going on in the Order.  Unfortunately, his hair was still bright yellow—not blond, mind you, yellow—and it was hard for Harry to pay attention when he felt like laughing at his godfather.

  


"Fletcher's still been trying to convince the Ministry," Sirius explained.  "They're not buying—well, at least Fudge's not, and he's the one that can really take major action."

  


"If I were You-Know-Who," Draco said sullenly, looking darkly at his toast and picking at it with his fork, "I know who my first target would be."

  


"Is that so?" Harry asked, carefully looking away to hide his grin.  "Who'd it be first?  Me, Sirius, Fudge, or Millicent Bulstrode?"

  


Draco shuddered.  "I forgot about her."

  


Sirius ignored the conversation and continued.  "Flora's watching out for anything suspicious going on, and tracking them, while Diedra, Orpheus, Mad-Eye, and Remus are laying low.  The rest are here."

  


"Anything else?" Draco drawled sarcastically.

  


"Actually, yes."  Sirius leaned back in his seat, slinging his arm back to hang behind his seat.  "Hagrid's gone."

  


"_What_?" Harry asked.  After a moment of thinking, he remembered something Hagrid had said after the first task.  "Is it that mission he was speaking of last term?"

  


"With Maxime.  To speak to the giants."

  


Harry frowned uncertainly.  "Who'll be teaching while he's gone?"

  


Sirius broke into a feral grin.

  


Draco dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter, let his forehead fall into the table, covered his head with his arms and groaned.  "Noooo…why won't you every go _away_?"

  


"I'd miss you too much, Drakie," Sirius replied without missing a beat.  Before Harry could interrupt him and demand how he could even consider such a crazy idea, he reminded, "Orpheus is a _master_ of disguise, Harry.  No one'll recognize me, Fletcher's sticking in fake identity files into the Ministry as we speak, and with Dumbledore backing me, I'll be as safe as can be."

  


Harry stared at Sirius without replying, and Sirius was waiting a little anxiously.  He would have to go ahead with it anyway, but he would rather had Harry's approval—however reluctant—than not.

  


After a few tense moments between the two, Harry grinned slowly.  "How did Snape take the news?"

  


Sirius snickered.  Carefully, with a devious glint in his eyes, he said, "I think he agrees with me that it will be a _very_ interesting school year."  He glanced at his watch.  "Well, first class is going to start in ten minutes.  Here are your schedules.  The Prank War will have been explained—we've tweaked a few of the rougher aspects.  All the other competitors are Prefects, and now they'll be sharing the same classes as well.  Just so this isn't so odd."

  


Harry reached for his class list, and found himself wishing he could have completely ignored what it said.

  


_Transfiguration / Gryffindor  
History of Magic / Slytherin  
Defense Against the Dark Arts / Ravenclaw  
Divination / Hufflepuff  
Potions / Slytherin & Gryffindor  
Astronomy / Ravenclaw  
Herbology / Hufflepuff & Gryffindor  
Charms / Slytherin  
Care of Magical Creatures / Ravenclaw & Hufflepuff_

  


"Go get your books, boys," Sirius said, getting up too leave.  Before he descended down the staircase that lead to the dorm, he called over his shoulder, "I'll see you later today." 

  


***

  


"Where were you doing breakfast?" Ron demanded as Harry slid into his seat for double Transfiguration.  Draco awkwardly followed, and sat in the seat beside Harry's.  However, he sat up straight in his seat and glared at all the Gryffindors that turned to glare back.  Hermione kept her gaze straight on the door, not even looking at Malfoy.

  


Ron scowled.  "What luck.  Malfoy."  He snorted, then turned towards the front of the classroom when Professor McGonagall entered.  She saw Malfoy sitting in his seat and nodded at him, then at the rest of the class.

  


"I expect everyone to be _civil_," she reminded, her voice tight.  "If anyone fails to do so—then you fail this course, as well."

  


Ron shot Malfoy a look.

  


She turned and placed a few light books she was carrying on her desk.  "Very well—fifth years.  The OWLs are this year, and I, along with the rest of your professors, will be working you very hard.  Magic takes work, and you must try to keep up with your lessons.

  


"Today's lesson is not directly related to Transfiguration, in itself," Professor McGonagall said, "but it is quite important when it comes to wand work in general.  Can anyone tell me what ley lines are?"

  


Hermione's hand shot up into the air, on the other side of Ron.  Professor McGonagall gave a rare smile.  "Yes, Miss Granger?"

  


"Ley lines have existed all over the Earth for an unknown amount of time—although mostly in London itself, as the major magical power of the world—but they were, in the past, believed to be lines that could open into a new dimension of a sort.  Now, further research and more time has proven that ley lines are not magical portals, but lines that one amplify ones' power, if magic is worked around it."

  


McGonagall nodded.  "Very good Ms. Granger, ten points to Gryffindor."  She stood straighter.  "Today's lesson will be comprehensive, and will not require your textbooks.  Please follow me."

  


As the class stood to follow her, Harry, Ron, and Hermione hung back.  "Harry, are you sure this is a good idea?" Hermione asked anxiously.  "I mean…working with _Malfoy_ and this whole Prank War thing sounds _very_ dangerous—"

  


"Come off it, 'Mione," Ron replied.  "The only thing bad about this is that Malfoy's involved.  Why'd they partner you two up for classes anyway?"

  


Harry shrugged.  "Because some higher entity feels that I must suffer."

  


"This isn't what I'd call fun, either, Potter," Draco snapped from behind.

  


"I wasn't talking to you," Harry replied, frowning but keeping up with the rest of the class.

  


"I don't care," Draco said, and Harry could see him gesturing indifferently.

  


Harry's eyes narrowed, as Ron and Hermione ignored Draco and tried to pretend that nothing was happening, so that Professor McGonagall wouldn't take notice of Harry and Draco's brewing argument.

  


"Why don't you respect people's privacy, for once?"

  


Draco gave an indignant sniff at Ron, then Hermione.  "I have no respect for those who aren't deserving of it."

  


Ron's hands clenched and he tried going for Draco, but Hermione put a hand on his shoulder and said, "It's not worth it, Ron."

  


After glaring at Draco threateningly for a few moments, Ron grudgingly straightened his robes and stormed after the class faster.  After a glance at Harry and Malfoy, Hermione sped to catch up with him and the class.

  


Harry glared at Draco.  "Why are you such a jerk to them?"

  


Draco shrugged.  "It's fun."  As an afterthought, before Harry could reply, he added, "And it's true."

  


"What is?"

  


"What I say about them.  They're worthless.  Granger is muggle, and Weasel's family has no dignity."

  


Harry's rage grew, but he kept it controlled.  "You've got some issues to work on.  A lot of them.  But leave my friends _out_ of it."

  


With that, he fumed after Ron and Hermione. 

  


***

  


Draco tried not to laugh.

  


Potter was so easy to manipulate.  So easy to predict, that he had trouble _not_ wondering how and why he wasn't killed yet.  With all the Death Eaters, with the Dark Lord—with everything and everyone going after him, how had this naïve boy survived this long?

  


Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled after the Gryffindors at a leisurely pace.  Potter was right—he did have some issues.  He hated muggles, and yet he was sacrificing everything to join the side protecting them.  It didn't make sense to him—_but obviously it did to Potter somehow_, he realized.  That night after they first were told about the Prank War, Harry had asked him the same question he was now asking himself.  Afterwards, when Draco couldn't give an answer, Harry had smiled and left.  He knew something that Draco couldn't figure out.

  


Then Draco thought it must've been an easy answer, for Potter to think of it.  The other boy didn't seem that intelligent, a lot of times, Draco decided.  Actually, he was quite stupid.  But Draco already knew that.

  


He finally found the class waiting in a patch of grass, where there were colorful flowers surrounding it.  There were four willow trees, one at each north, south, east, and west directions of the patch.  Their dropping branches and leaves mostly hid the group and area from direct sunlight, and the place was comfortably shady.  It was surprisingly large, but nonetheless very beautiful.  The more Draco observed, the more he felt that this had been a garden of some sort, an area preserved and well cared for.

  


McGonagall cleared her throat.  "This is a very special memorial garden, one of which no students are allowed access to unless without a teachers permission.  Do not attempt to return here."  She looked at everyone sternly, her specs flashing.

  


"This is a garden in which ley lines—as Miss Granger has explained—runs through.  Hogwarts is in such a position that there are many lines crisscrossing through it, so although Hogwarts is magical all over, in some places, the magic is stronger, and more powerful.

  


"You will pair up into partners, and I want you to try to decide which points are strongest in this garden.  There will be many, but try to feel out which ones aid your magic the most, or which ones put more power behind your spells."  She frowned.  "I expect that you will use spells at a fifth year level.  Try practicing with some ones you have recently learned."

  


The class broke into pairs, and Harry reluctantly walked back towards Draco.  "Well, what spell?"

  


Draco stared at Harry balefully.  "Obviously, she wants us to do Transfiguration spells."

  


Harry shook his head.  "She never said so."

  


Draco ignored Harry and went to the nearest tree trunk and bent over.  As Harry joined him, he began picking up rocks one by one and handing them to Harry.  "We better practice that spell Moody taught us."

  


Harry nodded, and said complacently, almost as if pitying him, "You would worry about that, wouldn't you?  C'mon, get over it, he's not going to turn you into a ferret."

  


Draco sputtered.  "It has absolutely _nothing_ to do with ferrets!"  He stood and whirled on Harry.  "Stop talking about ferrets!"

  


"Calm down," Harry replied breezily, turning the rocks over in his hands, "there's nothing wrong with not wanting to be turned into 'The Amazing Bouncing Ferret' again—but anyway, what was that spell that Moody taught us?  The flipping spell?  _Flippious_, was it…no…."

  


Draco tried to be patient.  He really did.  He tried not to lose his temper, tried not to blow up at Harry.  But enough was enough.  He ignored the fact that he had teased Harry about much more personal things, such as his parents and his being the first target of the Dark Lords'—but Draco wasn't Harry, and he would _not_ deal with his pride being—being _tarnished_—by the infernal memory of being turned into a bouncing white ferret.

  


He fumed to himself silently, as Harry unknowingly tried to figure out how to do the last spell that Moody had taught them.  Draco watched him intently, a plan formulating in his mind.

  


He would do something that would put Harry to shame, far beyond the ferret thing had done to him.

  


It was the first day of the Prank War.

  


He smirked.

  


Harry would be sorry.

  


**new term**

  


**end**

  


**A/N:** That chapter never ENDED!!  Argh!!  Oh well, now I'm back on track and chapters WILL be coming much faster.  I hope you like what's coming up – the PRANK WAR!!  If you have any suggestions, for the love of God PLEASE either e-mail me or leave it in a review.  I'm not sure I can come up with many funny pranks!

  


As always, please review, and tell me whether you want to be on the mailing list (leave your e-mail address!)!

  


NEXT CHAPTER: THE PRANK WAR!!!!!!!

  


~ Jedi Cosmos ~

  



	12. defense against the dark arts

**Author's Note:** I'm going back to writing short, but frequent chapters.  The quicker updates you get, and the less stressed out I get.  Kapeesh?

This chapter is dedicated to Sheron, who has been reviewing faithfully since Chapter 1.  Thank you very much!

**defense against the**

**dark arts**

Darkness.

_It was warm, wherever he was, but the scent of burning wood assaulted his senses.  It was a nice scent, one could say, a relaxing and sort of pacifying sort of smell._

_However, he had been through dreams like these too often to be comforted by his surroundings, the woods; and after a moment of blind terror in which he could do nothing but stare, he resignedly – reluctantly – to the point that he felt numb as he proceeded forward – followed the wood-burning smell._

_When he reached his destination, he found a home in ruins – smoldered by flames, although he could still see faint embers in the wood.  Closing his eyes in a moment of silence for whoever had been inside the home – and their remaining family – he opened his eyes – now clear of turmoil and frighteningly cold, in quite a scarred fashion, he lifted his head and tilted it towards the gathering of trees, where he could hear the rustle of leaves and whispers carrying through the winds._

_Walking – nearly dragging himself along, he stopped just outside the clearing, enough to hear what was being said.  He knew the face he would find, if he dared to peer into the clearing.  He knew the eyes he would find, staring through him.  And he also knew he still wasn't quite ready to face that just yet._

_"Master," a voice said, a soft tenor.  "We have precious little time before the Ministry is overwhelmed – and won't be able to cover up these deaths."_

_"Good.  I do not like being ignored."_

_It was _that_ voice: a hiss, deeply tinted with a cold malice that few could stand up to._

_It continued.  "Fudge will soon bend to my will.  But…."  There was silence as someone walked around in the clearing.  A slow, decadent stroll.  "For my main concerns…  How is young Mr. Potter fairing?"_

_A young voice, familiar, this time, replied with a completely mechanical reply.  "My Lord – he is well the same as he was before.  Still disturbed by the events of the Third Task – he seems to have assumed the guilt for Diggory's death – and the Professors are keeping an absurdly close watch on him, and there are more staff members – hands of Dumbledore's, for extra security, I suppose."_

_The other voice seemed thoughtful as it hissed a reply back.  "The fool believes he can save the boy from me.  How…like Dumbledore, this is.  Keep your eyes open, Draco.  Your feed is important."_

_The sound of pacing continued, until a quavering voice asked, "Master, the Third Task – the Prior Incantatem – "_

_A hiss interrupted the man and the cold voice snapped, "The boy cannot use his wand to distract me again, Pettigrew.  But I cannot defeat him in battle yet.  I need Rah's Eye."_

_There was a dead silence among the gathered throng._

_"The Eye of Rah?" one gasped.  "My – my Lord – then the myth is true?"_

_There was a pacing, and a curt reply of, "Of course, you fool.  I would not be wasting my time with it if it wasn't."_

_"W-what do you wish to use it for, my Lord?" asked the timid voice again._

_Voldemort laughed.  "Once I have it, my first objective is to kill the boy.  Then the Order of Phoenix shall collapse – along with it, the Ministry of Magic – and the magical community is left to me!"_

Harry snapped up in his bed, his hand flying to his scar so fast that it hit him hard enough to only add to the pain that was resounding through his skull.  Falling back onto his bed with a wrenched groan, he pulled a pillow to his face and buried himself in it.

Trying not to think about anything, trying not to feel the bile rising in the back of his throat, as he truly realized, again, that his world – although not very safe before, had become that much more deadly, he curled himself into a ball and breathed – in and out, in and out – until his breathing was calm again and he could only feel a mild throb in his scar.

Harry didn't move, though, just lay there, his mind wandering to random moments in his confrontation with Voldemort only months before.

_Cedric is dead_.

A profound sadness so deep hit Harry that he stopped breathing for a moment, stopped seeing anything but Cedric's blank, gray eyes staring upwards, and the mildly shocked expression painting the young – and dead – man's face.

_Cedric is dead_, his thoughts continued, _because of me_.

Suddenly, his mind showed him an image, bitter and cynical to no end, of other friends with the same blankness in _their_ eyes, the same shocked expressions on _their_ faces.

He felt a tremor – a shudder – run through him – as his thoughts – running so freely before – came to a sudden halt.

_No_.

His hands clenched themselves into fists, his jaw firmed, and the chill was replaced with a solid determination.

_No_.

He would not let that happen to his friends – his _family_ – not while he was still around.  Fine.  Voldemort's going to weaken him?  Then he wouldn't leave any openings.

Tomorrow – the second day of the first term – it would begin.

***

Ron, Hermione, and – surprisingly – Ginny were some of the first few up in the morning.  Without the exchange of so much as a single word, the three filed out of Gryffindor Tower to the Great Hall, where a few professors were seated at the staff table, and even less students were seated at the house tables.

They sat, waiting, until Hermione cleared her throat and said, "Harry should be here soon."

"Already came and left," a voice said wistfully from behind.  It was Professor McGonagall.

"Already?" Ginny echoed.

"Crack of dawn," McGonagall replied, looking a bit worried.  "Had a few slices of toast and left right away."

Hermione, Ginny, and Ron exchanged glances with each other, and McGonagall must have caught it, because, looking away, she said in a surprisingly tender voice, "Watch out for him.  He's going through something really hard right now – and he needs your support.  You look out for him, you three…."

She looked up at them, only for a moment, before turning and walking out of the Great Hall, her heeled shoes clicking on the floor and her dark robes flowing behind her.

***

Harry walked down the hall, a bit aways from Draco, clutching his Defense Against the Dark Arts books, and wondering vaguely who this years professor would be and what dark secret they were hiding.  He hadn't found out yet, as he hadn't gone to breakfast in time to see many people awake; only McGonagall, Sinistra, and Flitwick.  He didn't want to be around the students right then; he didn't know why, but he just didn't.

He and Draco had Defense with the Ravenclaws, and although it was his best subject, Harry was a bit intimidated of them.  As students, the Ravenclaws were – above and beyond.

He glanced at Draco, cool and calm as ever, and Harry wished for a change that Draco wasn't usually so composed.

They entered the classroom, and although they were on time, many Ravenclaws looked over in their seats, some looking scandalized that anyone had come later than the rest of them.  Many glared at Draco, but none spoke to either of the two.

They wordlessly found two empty seats, and sat, giving each other the merest glance (well, Draco glared) before turning back to look at the front of the room.

A few minutes later, all of the Ravenclaws' quiet whispering silenced, when the door opened slightly and a figure slipped through, shutting the door again from behind.

Harry gave a short, silent gasp as the figure walked to the desk, her robes flowing behind her.

"Hello, class."  She began speaking haltingly after seating herself in her seat and turning to them, a rather serious expression on her face.  "My name is Arabella Figg – my older brother is Albus Dumbledore, I am a retired Auror, and I will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year."  After a moments pause as she interpreted the wary looks that her students were giving her, she added, "Rest assured – I by no means am a servant of Lord Voldemort."

She stopped to watch as everyone clinched; save for Harry, who had his eyes fixed on her.  Arabella's jaw firmed.

"Voldemort," she repeated slowly.  "You will all have to get used to that name.  I will not tolerate any of this 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' nonsense in my classroom.  Nothing has ever come from fearing a name.

"This year, you will be learning some serious defense – and a bit offense.  In light of Voldemort's return, you will all need to know how to defend yourself as much as possible.  You will be taught hexes, curses, a variety of stunning and disarming spells, and shielding.  There will be many assignments through the year – every class period.  I expect cooperation on all sides of the classroom, at all times.  Understood?"

Everyone nodded.

Arabella nodded curtly in satisfaction..  She lifted her gaze.  "To truly defned yourselfes from the Dark Arts, you all must understand what exactly that is.  The Dark Arts are not merely some jinxes or curses.  They go deeper, much further that than.  Can anyone explain how this works"

No one raised their hand.  No one – besides harry – knew what the Dark Arts truly was, except that it was bad and used by bad wizards to accomplish bad things.  Sighing deeply to himself, Harry told himself that doing this would help his classmates.  The simple difference of _realizing_ what they were dealing with could make all the difference.  

And it wasn't as if he himself hadn't thought about it enough.

He raised his hand.

Arabella, looking a bit dubious but nonetheless gratified, said softly, "Mr. Potter?"

Harry put his hand down and spoke, trying to ignore the fact that everyone was listening to him and he felt as if he was in a tight space again.  "There is no simple spell that can do certain tasks that are beyond the usual – or natural – scope of magic.  The Dark Arts usually go past this scope, to do thinks and accomplish tasks that light magic can't, or any light magic user wouldn't really want.  The Dark Arts, although surpassing these set natural boundaries, also has a detrimental side.  By accomplishing what the user wants, it also takes a bit from the caster of the spell.  It takes powerful magic.  Here, he paused, before starting again, collecting his thoughts.  "The more power that is used, the more dark spells are cast – the more the dark nature of the spell – the _unnatural_ aspects of the spell – eat at the caster's soul.  They, in time, become as twisted as the magic they use."

There was a silence following this explanation.  All the Ravenclaw students were staring at Harry – and he could see a mix of fear, curiosity, and suspicion on their faces.

But Arabella was speaking again.  "Mr. Potter has given an excellent explanation for this.  Thirty points to Gryffindor."

As Arabella continued to explain Harry's explanation to the Ravenclaws more thoroughly, Draco hissed to Harry, "You just basically told everyone what we learned from Lupin during our training lesson."

"That's generally what you do with information you learn," Harry hissed back, irritated.  He took out a half-full roll of parchment, and after thinking of a moment, began to add things to it.

Bored, Draco looked over at what Harry was doing.  "Won't Figg get annoyed that you're not paying attention?"

Harry glanced up at Draco, a wry lift to his features.  "If you hadn't been too busy plotting revengle, you may have head Sirius telling us that he had talked to all of our professors – and unless they say we have to pay attention, we can work on the rest of our studies.  We have a huge head start on all our classes, and they've been skipping the lessons that aren't of much use, although they expect us to learn it through the classes.

"Basically, anything we don't know through our private lessons, we have to pay attention to in class?"

Harry shrugged and nodded.  'Pretty much."

Then why can't you just _say_ so, Potter?"  Draco leaned back into his seat, disgruntled.  "And how the heck would you know what I was thinking last night?"

\Harry rolled his eyes, continuing to write as he did so.  'It wasn't that hard, Malfoy.  You glared at me the entire time and if the expression on your face wasn't anything to go by, your attitude when you spoke was.  Not to mention your twitching eye."

Draco looked back at Harry peevishly, but didn't say anything else.  He didn't take out his assignment, however, and although not paying any mind to Professor Figg, looked around the classroom a bit, his thoughts inscrutable.

_So_, Draco thought, his eyes landing on a quill on Figg's desk.  _Potter's not as prudent as I thought._  He resisted the urge to sneer at the quill, save he give anything else away to Harry.  _Very smart, actually.  I completely didn't expect him to be perceptive, of all things.  I'll have to be extra careful._  For Draco already had his prank planned.

Yesterday had been the Hufflepuff's turn for a prank, on the very first day of the prank war, and today was the Ravenclaw's turn.  Draco mildly wondered what Terry Boot would have up his sleeve for either him, Potter, or that Justin Finch-Fletchley – or maybe even all three.  He racked his brain for any memory of Boot…and found absolutely nothing.

Sighing to himself and hoping that the Ravenclaws, with the little time given, would be unable to master energy enough for a prank, would let their turn pass like the Hufflepuffs had, Draco turned his attention back to Figg.  Harry had put his essay away.

"Your assignment for today is to write on what you believe is the Dark Arts, in your own words – whether you believe it's too extreme or that some spells should be given more chances.  Two rolls of parchment.  Class dismissed."

As all the Ravenclaws stood to leave, Professor Figg approached Harry and Draco.

"How are your lessons going?" she asked them lightly.  There was a familiar twinkle in her blue eyes.  'Sirius seems to be training you up very well.  He's controlling your schedules, is he not?"

Harry nodded.  "Professor Lupin has been teaching us on the Dark Arts and its capabilities, so we're a bit ahead."

Professor Figg smiled.  "I'm sure, dear.  I hope your summer went well?"

Draco gave her a pointed look, drawing a chuckle from her.  "Yes, yes, no need to answer that one…" she trailed off.  Eyes glancing at the clock upon the wall, she said, "You might want to get going.  Alastor won't be pleased if you're late."

**dark arts**

**end**

****

**A/N:** Thanks for the patience on all of your parts, I really appreciate it.  I've had some major family problems crop up, and it took a bit for me to get over it and get going.

This chapter wasn't really that short, now that I look at it.  10 pages!  Oh well.  The updates will be much more frequent, now that I'm getting out of the habit of writing very long chapters.  The plot is all set out and this fic is rolling!

Oh, and I want to make a comment.  Some reviewers have asked why I've made Harry so stupid in the last chapter.  May I point out that it's Draco's viewpoint I was going from there?  In _his_ opinion, Harry's a bit dim.  That does not mean in any way that he actually is.

As always, please review, and tell me whether you want to be on the mailing list (leave your e-mail address)!

~ Jedi Cosmos ~


End file.
